The Ballad of Emma O'Toole. Elizabeth Lane
he said. “And I know a back road where those galoots out front aren’t likely to follow us. I’d be glad to drive you to Park City.”
“I’d be much obliged,” Logan said.
“I’m the one who’s obliged,” Doc responded. “It was trying to save my worthless life that got you into this mess. And speaking of that…” He fumbled in his vest and brought out a thick, rumpled manila envelope. “I gathered up your winnings when the marshal hauled you off to jail. Figured if you wound up with your neck in a noose I’d give them to the young lady, here. But since you’re alive and a free man, in a manner of speaking…” He thrust the envelope into Logan’s hands. Dizzy with relief, Logan felt the weight of it. He never counted his winnings while he was still at the table, but he knew he’d been doing pretty well before young Carter showed up. How much was he holding?
“I took the liberty of adding up what you’d won,” Doc continued. “Hard to place a value on the stock or on that mine you won from Thorson. But there’s enough cash to set you up for a few—”
“Wait!” Logan broke in. “You say I won a mine?”
“That’s right. The Constellation, it’s called. Not a big setup, mind you. Thorson started it on a shoestring, then pretty much abandoned it when he found richer diggings in Woodside Gulch. But the ore assayed at thirty-one ounces of silver to the ton, rich enough to make a tidy profit. Just needs digging and hauling.”
“I’ll be damned,” Logan muttered. “But I don’t know the first thing about mining.”
“Well, if the way you play poker’s any indication, you’re smart enough to learn. In any case, if you take what’s in this envelope and put it to work, you could end up comfortably well off, if not downright rich. Think what that security could mean for The missus, here.”
He glanced toward Emma, who stood cloaked in stubborn silence. The girl hadn’t asked for this, Logan reminded himself. She deserved a respectable life, with a safe, cozy home, a wardrobe of pretty dresses and no worries about where her next meal was coming from. The last thing she needed was a man dragging her and her baby from town to town, living in shoddy hotel rooms, flush one day and penniless the next.
Could he really settle down? For seven years he’d been on the move, always looking over his shoulder, never daring to put down roots. But Utah Territory was a world away from the Louisiana bayous. Even after the notoriety of today’s trial, who would come here looking for a man named Christián Girard—a man whose trail, and life, had ended in the murky depths of a Louisiana swamp?
He was as safe here as he could ever hope to be.
He would make himself believe that and act accordingly.
Wrapped in her shawl, Emma huddled between Doc and Logan on the swaying buggy seat. Her fingers toyed with the slim gold band on her finger—the token that declared her, before the world, a married woman.
She felt more like a prisoner than a wife. The last thing she’d have expected was to end the day as Mrs. Logan Devereaux. But that had been her choice, Emma reminded herself. She’d wed him to avenge Billy John’s death. But short of killing the man, how was she supposed to make him pay?
The country road wound through a grove of budding alders and crossed the bed of a shallow creek. Emma’s gaze followed the flight of a golden eagle as it soared westward to disappear over the snow-clad Wasatch Mountains. The sun hung low in the sky, streaking the clouds with flame and crimson. By the time they reached Park City it would be dark.
A quiver of growing awareness crept through Emma’s body. Tonight would be her wedding night.
She remembered the urgent gropings and thrustings on the hard-packed floor of Billy John’s shanty, with the wind whistling through the whip-sawn boards. They’d never seen each other undressed. The weather had been too cold, the need too urgent on the rare occasions when they’d been able to snatch the chance to be alone.
Emma could count the times it had happened on the fingers of one hand. She’d known it was wrong, but it had been what Billy John wanted, and she would have done anything to please him.
Logan would want the same thing. As her husband he would expect it, even demand it as his right.
What would happen if she refused him?
Her gaze crept to the hand that lay lightly on the knee of his fawn-colored breeches. His long fingers looked powerful enough to crush her in their grip. The bruises had faded from when he’d grabbed her through the jail cell bars, but the memory of them had not. Logan was a big man, his body as lean and sinewy as a cougar’s. He would certainly be able to force her if he chose to. She would have to be prepared for that.
She could plead her delicate condition. True, she’d heard enough women’s talk to know that unless a wife was unusually frail or prone to miscarriage, there was no reason to abstain except in the last weeks of pregnancy. But being a man, Logan might not know that. The excuse might work.
But what if it didn’t?
As the twilight deepened, the spring night grew chilly. Emma shivered beneath her shawl. She was cold, hungry and exhausted. All the same, if she’d had the strength, she might have leaped out of the buggy and fled into the woods rather than face what she’d be facing tonight.
“Are you all right, girl?” Doc had done most of the talking on the long ride. “You’ve been mighty quiet.”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Won’t be much longer now. Look yonder, you can see the lights of Park City between those two hills.”
“You can let us off at the Park City Hotel,” Logan said. “It might be smarter to pull up by the back door. That way I can get to the desk and pay for a room without attracting a lot of attention.”
“I can do better than that,” Doc said. “Give me a little of that cash before I let you off. I can drive around front, get you a room and order some food sent up. You can go up the back stairs and nobody will even know you’re there. How does that sound?”
“Perfect.” Logan fished some bills out of the envelope and stuffed them into the old man’s coat pocket. “That should be plenty. Whatever’s left is yours. Tell them to leave the key in the door and bring dinner up as soon as it’s ready. After ten days in jail, I’m looking forward to a decent meal and a soft bed.”
Emma twisted the ring on her finger. How easy life became with a little cash, she thought. Just like that, Logan had arranged for a room in the finest hotel in town, with a hot dinner to be brought to their door. She’d never even set foot inside the Park City Hotel. It was a place for people with money, and She’d never had a cent to spare.
All her life Emma had been poor. She’d been fifteen when her widowed mother fell sick with consumption and sixteen when the good woman died. Since then she’d been on her own, taking whatever work her strong young hands could do. Meeting Billy John had awakened dreams of a better life—a cozy little home with children around the table and a man who’d come home to her every night. It didn’t matter that they’d never be rich. As long as he loved her, she would be the happiest woman in the world.
Now she found herself wed to a dark stranger, a man with the means to provide every material thing she could imagine wanting.
But it was a cold bargain she’d made. Any chance of affection between them, let alone love, was as remote as the dark side of the moon.
Only after they’d found the key in the door did Emma realize that Doc had rented the bridal suite.
Emma stared at the mauve satin coverlet and ecru lace canopy that draped the double bed. Twin cupids were carved into the headboard. The bedclothes, which had been turned down, looked as thick and soft as fresh winter snow.
It was the most elegant bed Emma had ever seen. But she would sleep on the cold, hard floor before she’d share it with Logan Devereaux.
Aside from the