Brides of Arizona, page 17
Sobbing, she collapsed in his arms. He held her tight, running his hand over her hair. “It’s over, my love,” he whispered.
“What happened?” Glorianna tried to turn and look over the side of the rocks.
“Don’t look,” Conlon commanded, pulling her back around. “I shot the cougar, but in its fall, it knocked Dirk off the rocks. He’s dead, Sweetheart. He won’t bother you again.”
Glorianna pushed away slightly, tilting her head to look into Conlon’s brilliant blue eyes. They were even more wonderful than she remembered. She reached up to brush the lock of hair from his forehead, savoring the touch.
“What happened to Chastity? How did you get here?” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Fayth, she’s out in the desert. We have to find her.”
He grinned, running a finger down her cheek, tracing the outline of her lips before he answered. “Timothy and I met Fayth. He’s taking her back to the camp. She told me where to find you. As for Chastity, the major decided I wasn’t the right son-in-law for him. He sent me back to Camp MacDowell for a time.”
“For how long?” she asked, fearing losing him again.
“Long enough to get married,” he whispered. “That is, if you’ll still have me.”
“Yes. Oh yes,” she breathed as his lips settled over hers in a kiss that made her knees weak.
Epilogue
Loud pounding on the door startled Conlon as he scraped the razor across his face. “Ouch!” He winced as a tiny line of red welled up on his jaw.
“Hey, Conlon, you too high and mighty to talk to a friend?” Josiah stuck his head through the door and grinned. “Here you are in the guest house like you’re some high-falutin’ fancy pants.”
“Can’t you knock a little softer? You almost made me cut my throat.” Conlon tilted his head and pointed to the blood.
Josiah’s laughter rumbled through the room. “If you had your head out of the clouds, you would have heard me knock the first two times.”
Leaning over the basin to rinse his face, Conlon hoped to hide his embarrassment. Josiah was right. Today was his wedding day, and for the last week or so, he couldn’t seem to do anything right. Even Champ had been giving him funny looks.
He knew the disorientation had to do with finally getting to be with Glory again. For the past two months, he’d been stationed at Fort Lowell in Tucson. Major Denton, true to his promise, had sent Mrs. Denton and Chastity back east for a visit after breaking the news to them that Conlon wouldn’t be marrying Chastity.
The major had insisted that Conlon come to Fort Lowell. He wanted him to work as a cavalry liaison officer, acquiring new horses for the troops and making sure they were properly broken. Only the separation from Glorianna marred his happiness. This job was the beginning of his dream. He now had the opportunity to learn where the best horses could be found when he was ready to start his ranch. Glorianna had been very understanding about the separation. She encouraged him in what she called “their dream,” the hope that someday they would have a ranch where they could raise quality horses.
Conlon patted his face dry, taking care not to make the cut bleed again. Did all bridegrooms nick themselves on their wedding day? He grinned at the thought and turned to Josiah. “You’re just jealous because I’ve been writing Glory all those letters instead of sending them to you.”
A crooked grin split Josiah’s ebony face. “You’ve got that right. Did you know the mail carrier’s horse’s legs are two inches shorter than they used to be? Poor thing’s been running back and forth between here and Fort Lowell so much, he’s worn to a frazzle.” He slapped Conlon on the back, then sank into a chair. “Speaking of letters, I hear you had an important one waiting for you when you arrived.”
Conlon reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. For a moment he couldn’t speak as emotion made a tight knot in his throat. He ran his fingers over the fine print on the crinkled paper. Even after all these years, he’d recognized his mother’s handwriting.
“My mother wrote.” He looked up and saw the compassion in Josiah’s eyes. “My father died last month. The doctor said his heart gave out.”
He pulled out the pages of paper he’d already memorized and opened them up. “Mom says my letter reached them not long before Dad got real sick. She said the news of my becoming a Christian helped them all. Dad’s only regret was not getting to see me again before he died. He wanted to tell me how much he loved me and that he forgave me years ago for what happened to my brother.”
Conlon leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You know, I miss Dad, but I’ve been thinking all night long that now I’ll be able to be with him in heaven someday. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have had that comfort.”
Josiah reached over and engulfed Conlon’s hands in his callused hands. “I’m glad you wrote them. This will really start the healing. Knowing you’re forgiven will help you to forgive yourself.” Josiah stood and stretched. “Now, we’d better get going, or you won’t be at the ceremony in time. I can’t wait until you see your bride in that pretty dress.”
“Dress?” Conlon grimaced. “I wanted to bring a special one for Glory. I knew she wouldn’t be able to get the right material here, but I couldn’t find the time to shop in Tucson. Where did she get a dress?”
“She didn’t tell you last night?”
“I got in so late, we didn’t have much time to talk.”
“I’ll bet there was time for a kiss or two.” Josiah chuckled.
Conlon laughed, feeling his face warm. “That’s possible. Now, tell me about the dress.”
“Her cousin Kathleen, from back east, sent Glorianna’s mother’s wedding dress. It came in on a shipment last week. On the same train that brought your letter.” Josiah clapped Conlon on the shoulder and steered him toward the door. “Anyway, your bride has been crying ever since. Seems she had given up the idea of having a decent dress to wear for her wedding day.”
Thank You, Lord. What a gift for Glory and me. Conlon felt light as air as he followed Josiah outside. He couldn’t wait to see Glorianna. When Captain Wilton first insisted he stay in the guest house, he’d objected. Now he was thankful for the privacy he would have with his bride.
“Oh, Fayth, I wish my mother could be here today.” Glorianna smoothed her hand over the pure white of her wedding dress. Her mother’s dress. The skirt fell in soft folds to her feet. Lace trimmed the long sleeves, the neck, and the hem. The simplicity of the pattern made the dress beautiful.
“Your mother would be so happy for you.” Fayth finished the last of the tiny buttons, then came around and gave Glorianna a hug. “I know she’d love Conlon.” She took a moment to adjust the lace collar. “Kathleen must be such a blessing to you. I can’t believe she even sent these ribbons to weave in your hair. She must have known we would have no flowers around here.”
Glorianna brushed her fingers over her hair. “She is wonderful.” She closed her eyes and bit her lip. “Fayth, I’m so nervous, my stomach is jittery. I don’t think I can do this.”
Fayth laughed and hugged her again. “I know just how you feel. I felt the same way right before my wedding. You’ll be fine. Ready to go?” She walked around Glorianna one more time as if looking for anything out of place, then gestured to the door.
Conlon held himself stiff, hoping he didn’t show any nervousness. Most of the camp had gathered in the dining hall for the wedding. The pastor from Florence had ridden in with him, and he waited now with Conlon, watching the door for Glorianna to enter.
The last rays of the sun streamed in as Glorianna stepped through the doorway. In that moment, the golden glow seemed to surround her in a haze. Conlon’s chest tightened, and he fought for a breath. Oh, God, she’s so beautiful. Thank You for this gift. Please help me to be worthy of her love.
She glided down the aisle between the rows of people. Her gaze never faltered from his. As she drew closer, he could see the silent promise she offered, the promise of her love and commitment for a lifetime.
He stepped forward and joined his hand with hers. With a smile, he returned her promise with one of his own—to love and cherish her forever, just the way God intended.
Sonoran Star
Chapter 1
Quinn Kirby finished digging the splinter from his thumb, wiped the blade on his pants, snapped the pocketknife shut, and pushed it into his pocket. The thrum of horses’ hooves, accompanied by the rattle of the stage, echoed down the quiet street. He turned to the right and leaned his shoulder against the rough-hewn boards of the mercantile. Glancing down to make sure his deputy badge still shone from last night’s polishing, he continued his patient wait for the stage.
Every day was the same. The afternoon stage would arrive, and Quinn would be waiting—waiting for her, so he could arrest her. He knew one day the thief, known as the Veiled Widow, would show up here in Tucson. When she did, he’d be ready. Quinn wasn’t afraid of arresting a woman. From the reports coming in over the wires, the Widow was getting bolder all the time.
Her modus operandi—he rolled the fancy police term around in his mind, fighting the faint smile that touched his lips—involved showing up in a town and acting helpless. She targeted older, well-to-do gentlemen. She stayed long enough to get the gentleman to cough up a tidy sum, then she disappeared. No one would hear about her for weeks until she came out of hiding to strike again. Her appetite for wealth seemed to be growing. In the last few months, she’d struck with alarming frequency.
The stage rattled to a stop in a cloud of dust that settled to the ground in a slow waltz. White lather flecked the horses’ harness straps. Quinn straightened. Eight weeks ago the Widow had robbed and wounded a man in Texas. She seemed to be working her way west. To Quinn’s way of thinking, that made Tucson a likely destination. He was here to make sure she didn’t carry out her manipulations on any of the fine citizens of the town he’d sworn to protect.
The driver climbed down from the top of the stagecoach. His bones creaked as loud as the stage. He opened the door, stepped to the side, and held out his hand. Quinn brushed the handle of his pistol. The driver wouldn’t be helping a man from the coach.
The sight of a small foot encased in a black shoe made Quinn’s heart accelerate. Muscles tense, he flexed his fingers, and he held his breath. The woman climbed out, one hand holding her dark green skirt up so she wouldn’t trip. A dainty matching hat trimmed with a pheasant feather and no veil perched atop her gray-streaked hair. Mrs. Baker. She and her husband must be getting home from their trip to Albuquerque to visit their daughter. Lena Baker smiled at the driver. Richard Baker climbed from the coach and took his wife’s arm to help her to the side of the street. A young man, thin and gawky, clambered from the stage, grabbing the door just in time to keep from falling in the dust.
Quinn watched as the young man righted himself and turned to help catch the luggage being lowered to the ground. Some of the tension drained away. He’d had such hopes that she would be on the stage today. In fact, he woke this morning with the feeling that he would arrest her today. He could almost picture the black veil covering her face, her trim figure decked in a black traveling dress, slender long-fingered hands holding the skirt up in a delicate manner as she stepped down. Quinn jumped. He wasn’t just thinking this; he was seeing her. The lanky youth finished helping the woman, came close to falling again as he offered her his arm, then reddened as she turned and walked away from the stagecoach straight toward the elderly Mr. Ash, one of the richest men in town.
After pushing off from the dry adobe wall, Quinn began the stalk. His left hand brushed against his deputy badge, his right shifted his Colt pistol, making sure the gun was loose in the holster. A breeze crept across the street, ruffling the woman’s veil. Quinn itched to rip the cloth away. Back stiff, the woman lifted her skirts again to step over a pile of manure. Before her foot touched ground, Quinn had her by the elbow. His grip wasn’t gentle. No way would he lose the Veiled Widow.
She gasped. Her arm jerked.
He tightened his hold.
“Ouch. Let me go.” She tugged hard, stumbling to the side.
“I don’t believe I will, Ma’am. You’re coming with me.”
She turned her head toward him. “I will not. I don’t even know you. Now, if you’ll let me go, I’m expecting someone.”
Quinn shook his head. “You are despicable. You haven’t even been in town two minutes, and you already have your victim picked out.” He wrapped his hand tightly around her slender arm.
“If you don’t release me right now, I’ll have the authorities called.”
Lifting his hat with his free hand, Quinn smiled. “I am the authority, Ma’am. Deputy Quinn Kirby at your service.”
“What?” She stopped struggling. The stage passengers stared as they waited in the shade of the building.
“Let’s go, Widow. I have some mighty fine accommodations for you.”
“Widow? Accommodations? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did my cousin send you?”
Fine dust curled up around their legs as Quinn marched her down the street. He had to admit she was good. From her tone, he could almost believe she had no idea why he was arresting her. No wonder so many lawmen and businessmen had succumbed to her charms. “I don’t know your cousin. I’m here to arrest you for robbery.”
“What?” Despite his grip, she stopped in the middle of the street. Wrenching her arm to the side and getting loose, she staggered back.
Quinn lunged at her before she could get her footing. This woman was one slippery character. He misjudged the distance and smacked into her. They both tumbled onto the roadway. Quinn twisted in midfall so he wouldn’t drop on top of her. His shoulder landed with a splat in a fresh pile of manure.
The Widow fell hard beside him. Her hair tumbled loose. The hat with the veil attached dropped to one side. Quinn found himself gazing into the most incredible hazel eyes he’d ever seen—green, dotted with flecks of yellow, bordered by a ring of darker green. He forgot the horse manure. He couldn’t remember why he wanted to arrest her. All he could think of was how much he wanted to stay here and look into those amazing eyes.
She blinked. Her lips twitched. A picture flashed through Quinn’s mind of him lying in the street with horse manure dripping from his cheek. No wonder she wanted to laugh. Before he found himself chuckling with a known criminal, Quinn leapt to his feet. He offered her a hand up. She accepted and turned her face to the left as she rose. All humor faded from her beautiful eyes.
“My hat.” She started to bend over and pick it up.
Quinn jerked her to his side. “Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not giving you a second chance to escape.”
“Please, I’m not trying to escape. I need my veil.” She continued to tilt her head to the side. Her peaches-and-cream complexion had a light sprinkle of pale freckles. Long, dark eyelashes brushed against her cheek as she blinked. Mahogany hair shone in the afternoon light despite a light coating of Arizona dust.
“Why do you want a veil? What are you trying to hide?” Quinn wondered, then realized he’d spoken the words aloud. He caught her other arm and pulled her around. His eyes widened in surprise. On her left cheek, marring the perfection, was a star-shaped birthmark. The reddish-brown blemish covered a large portion of her cheek.
Kathleen O’Connor felt heat flush her face. Deputy Kirby stood gawking at her like the school kids had when she was a girl. That’s why her parents had taken her out of school. The familiar taunts came flooding back. “Hey, devil girl.” “She’s Satan’s spawn.” The whisperings, the mothers who forced their children to the other side of the street when she passed by. The years of horror washed over her.
She flinched. Trying to free her hand, she longed to cover her cheek. The deputy held her tight. Dipping her face to the left, Kathleen did her best to hide her birthmark-stained cheek with her shoulder. God, please, help me.
Deputy Kirby released her left arm. She pivoted away from him. He bent down, picked up her hat and veil from the dirt, and knocked them against his leg. Then he handed them to her. She wanted to cry. She didn’t know why it mattered that this handsome man with his riveting blue-gray eyes wanted her face covered. She knew she wasn’t fit for anyone to look at. Hadn’t she been told that most of her life? Now she felt more shame than she’d known in years.
“Thank you.” She nearly choked on the words.
Using her free hand to try to put the hat in place, Kathleen glanced at the deputy. His eyes glittered. He turned away and pulled her down the street. Were those tears in his eyes? Does he feel sorry for me?
“I don’t need your pity.”
“What?” He looked at her, his mouth set in a grim line.
“I said I don’t need your pity. Just because I have a birthmark doesn’t mean I’m evil.”
They reached a small adobe building. The deputy opened a door that creaked in protest and pulled her inside. Kathleen blinked, trying to adjust to the dimness.
Kicking the door closed, the deputy motioned to the desk in one corner. “Leave your bag on the desk.” He gave her a long look. “I don’t pity you for the mark on your cheek. I pity you for the way of life you’ve chosen.”
“My way of life?” Kathleen gaped. “Exactly what do you know about me?”
He snorted. “I’ve been following your career for months. I knew you’d turn up in Tucson eventually. Criminal sorts tend to find their way here. You think you can hide out here or that we’ll be easy marks. Well, it didn’t work this time. I was ready for you.”
He dragged her across the small room to a cell. The deputy pulled the door open, ushered her to the cell, and slammed the door shut behind her.
“What are you doing?” Kathleen had never felt such outrage. “Why am I being locked in a jail cell? I demand you let me out of here. And I don’t know why you called me a widow. I am not a widow.”
“Then why are you wearing black?”
