Chapter 9
Was it anger that she felt that night and the next morning, upon realizing just how he had tricked her?
He had played on her emotions, on her guilt—and somehow, instead of owning up to her embrace with the rascal, she found herself pretending as though it had never happened at all.
Somehow, she had allowed herself to be protected by the most frequently incarcerated man in the whole county.
“This is not who you are, Lyla Partridge,” she whispered to herself fiercely as she readied for the day.
The interrupted night, the lack of sleep afterward, left hollows under her eyes.
But at least, she told herself, she would not be the only one.
“You must be brave. You must go down and own up to Stephen, and tell him everything, and tell him you care nothing for Rhett…”
It was this last part that she was stuck on, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself of the truth of those words.
Yes, she knew that she would be dreaming of that kiss for the rest of her life—but even now, Rhett was in jail yet again.
What sort of life could they possibly have together, while he was content to be merely a bad man rather than the great one she knew he could be?
They both had disappointed expectations in each other—all the more so because they understood exactly who and what the other was. She shivered to think of his words about her; she’d never felt so clearly seen in her life.
And certainly not by Stephen McDowell, who had moved the vase back to its place on the piano first thing that morning, huffing out an irritated sigh.
The prospect of her life, entirely dependent on the decisions of a wealthy and powerful man, stretched unbearably before her.
It would be pleasant enough, she knew; Stephen was a good man, and he would not make it uncomfortable for her.
And yet, to know that she would never make a decision for her own self ever again…
That she would never be able to stand up and fight for herself, ever again…
She felt as though she were in mourning, and she wasn’t entirely sure what for. Perhaps it was for the Lyla who was left behind, the one Rhett had seen so clearly when she landed herself in jail, railing against the unfairness of it all.
In the middle of the day, trying unsuccessfully to apply herself to mending that didn’t really need to be done—she’d had to wrest it away from Sarah—she heard voices just outside on the veranda. One was Stephen’s, of course.
The other was a voice she did not recognize.
Driven by curiosity, she tiptoed to the window and swung it wide, craning her neck to peer out. Yes, there was Stephen, and beside him stood another man, around his age, his hat pulled low. A silver star glinted on his chest. His horse waited at the gate, tied to the post.
Sheriff Edwards had returned at last, to deal with the matters of West Hope.
She knelt on the window seat and leaned forward to listen.
“I tell you, Sheriff, I’m at my wits’ end with that—that rascal! Somethin’s got to be done.”
“Well,” said the sheriff reasonably, scratching the back of his neck, “the trouble is, we can’t keep him much longer. There’s no evidence that he was doin’ anything wrong.”
“Evidence! I caught him on my property, red-handed!”
“Red-handed doin’ what, Mr. McDowell?”
Stephen blustered for a moment.
“He—well—he said he was planning a theft.”
“But he didn’t actually steal anything.”
“No, I suppose not, but…”
“And he turned himself in readily enough. Came quietly, no trouble.”
“Yes, but…”
“Seems to me,” said the sheriff, “that Rhett Hammond is just out to get your goat, Mr. McDowell. He’s been teasing you around for a while now, but he never did you any damage.
Even his companions seem to have abandoned him—why, I caught Grady Carpenter just last week, sellin’ a dozen of Mr. O’Leary’s dairy cows.
Seems he was a mite unclear on whether they were cows or steers—I reckon Rhett was the brains of the operation while they were workin’ together. ”
“You see,” said Stephen, rubbing his face with both hands, “everyone knows what he’s done. Just because we don’t have any proof of it, is that any reason to let him go free?”
“I don’t know that there’s much of a good way out of this, Mr. McDowell.
Unless Rhett Hammond spontaneously reforms, the odds are he’s going to keep on doin’ what he’s been doin’.
” He sighed. “I’ll tell you what I can do for you.
Instead of settin’ him free for lack of space, I’ll send him over to Hawesville, where he can cool his heels for a week. ”
“That’s not good enough. He doesn’t seem to mind in the least ending up in jail.”
“Well, there’s not much else to be done, Mr. McDowell. If there was something he did mind, we’d do it. But as it is…”
“There must be something,” Stephen repeated, his voice tight.
The sheriff clapped him on the shoulder.
Lyla heard murmured words of congratulations on Stephen’s engagement; Stephen merely muttered something wordless in reply.
She sat back, turning around to face the handsomely appointed sitting room, and tried to quell the beating of her heart.
Send him to Hawesville—she didn’t know much about geography in California, but she was quite sure that it was some fifty or sixty miles away.
Would he bother to come back after that?
Was it possible that she had seen him for the last time—standing up and protecting her, presenting himself for arrest, anything to let her keep the future that she had chosen for herself, married…
no matter what stuck-up varmint that happens to be, or how much better off she’d be with me…
hey, would you look at that? Appears I found a gentlemanly instinct.
But you, Rhett Hammond—you could be a great man, with your smarts, your kindness, your friendly manners, and your handsome face—and I could love you for it.
Could love him?
She did love him.
Saying otherwise was only a desperate way to fool herself. And she was too smart to be fooled forever. She stood up from the window seat, her heart in her throat. Now that she knew, now that she was convinced, there was no question but that she must speak to Stephen at once.
With her courage in both hands, she practically ran to the front door, bursting through it onto the veranda.
“Stephen!”
He turned to her, one hand running agitatedly through his short gray hair, and she knew the expression on his face was one of irritation, no matter how he tried to mask it with a smile.
“Lyla.”
“Stephen, I must tell you something.”
“I’m awful busy at the moment, Lyla. Can’t you just tell Sarah?”
“No, this concerns you, Stephen, and only you. Stephen—I do not love you.”
There. The words were out. She could not take them back. She felt like crowing in triumph—and a little like crying.
He blinked at her for a moment, and then responded, as she had hoped, in kind—with honesty of his own.
“That’s just fine,” he said. “Come to that, I don’t love you either. Maybe it’s not the sort of thing that happens in a mail-order marriage.”
“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant, Stephen! If you don’t love me and I don’t love you, perhaps we shouldn’t be getting married at all!”
This did seem to confound him. He folded his arms, leaning back against the column, and eyed her for a time.
“But I reckoned on gettin’ married,” he said. “To have a family, to raise children, and have someone to pass the ranch down to.”
“Is that really what you want, Stephen? Or would you rather pass it to someone else—Sarah, for example?”
“Aw, now, Sarah’s older’n me, Lyla. She’s not goin’ to be around…”
“Sarah and the hands,” Lyla said. “Sarah and the men you hire. Sarah and the staff here at the house. Anyone you choose, Stephen—anyone you choose—can inherit. It needn’t be your sons.” She took a deep breath. “And I’m beginning to believe you might be better off as a bachelor, anyway.”
For a moment, she was afraid that she had gone too far. There was a spark of warmth in his eyes—was it anger? Or something else? She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t read Stephen the way she could read Rhett Hammond…
Finally, he grunted.
“Well, you might be right about that.”
“You like things just how you like them,” she hurried on, feeling as though the end were in sight.
“And I could never bring myself to settle things, to leave them as I’ve found them.
I’ve never been the sort. And I know I irk you sometimes with my impatience and my temper—surely you don’t think that will go away just because we’re married. ”
“I reckon not…”
How strange to be convincing the man she was engaged to that he didn’t want to marry her after all!
It was exactly the opposite of what most young women would be doing at this moment—a fabulously rich, decent, hard-working man was willing to marry her, and here she was singing her own detriments!
She would have to write Della about this at once…
“Della!” she cried.
“Hmm?”
“Della is on her way! Oh, you’ll love her, Stephen—she’s everything I’m not, and more.
She’d be happy to stay here and help Sarah, to cook and clean and do whatever must be done.
And she’s not the sort to make waves, not like me.
There’s no mischief in her at all—and if you decide to get married after all, she might well be willing to consider it.
” She beamed at him. “Would you look at that!” she cried. “Everything’s coming up roses!”
“Lyla Partridge,” Stephen said, “are you telling me that you’d like to be released from our engagement?”
“I—yes, I suppose I forgot to say that part out loud. Yes, Stephen. I think we might both be happier if we end our engagement. And…” She pressed her lips together. “I believe I even have a solution to your conundrum with Rhett Hammond.”
“How’s that?” he asked, squinting at her suspiciously.
“Put me in jail,” she said promptly.
“Eh?”
“Put me in jail, Stephen McDowell, and I’ll make sure Rhett Hammond never bothers you again.”