me at gunpoint and chained me to a wall. I was angry but what made it worse was how cold you were and how you hated me, as if you didn’t remember anything that happened before.” He paused and then admitted grudgingly. “I was hurt, but the way you responded to me tonight—I know nothing has changed between us.” Then more softly, “And it’s no accident I’m here in Montana.”
Charity’s hands clenched tight in her effort to keep from reaching out to him. “What does that mean?”
“I hired a detective to look into where you’d gone. He followed your trail from Boston but you seemed to disappear here in Montana.” He smiled at her skeptical look. “You don’t believe me. In the spring of ‘84 you boarded a train with Elle Stanton bound for St. Louis and then took another to Iowa. A few months later you hired a coach bound for Helena, but when it arrived you and Elle were not on it. I don’t know what happened to you then. We checked each town along the way but found nothing. Finally, last spring the detective thought he’d found you in town and I came as soon as I could get away. I have his reports in my suite in Helena. You’re welcome to review them, but to do that you’ll have to agree to come back to my suite.”
“I want to believe you.” She really did and it was hard to deny the dates. Elle had thought it best not to take a straight route just in case they were followed so it had taken them more than a year to make it to Helena. The hard facade faded and she suddenly looked and felt like the seventeen-year-old girl they both remembered. “But I can’t go back to Boston. All the people who turned their backs on us and then to be your...your...” Could she be his mistress somewhere else? Somewhere besides Boston? She closed her eyes, unwilling to face the truth.
“Wife,” he supplied.
Charity looked into his eyes and tried to find a trace of something that was not genuine, but he only looked strangely boyish and hopeful. “You want to marry me?”
“I love you. After tonight...I know I love you. I can’t lose you again.” His fingers delved into her honeyed hair as he leaned close and kissed her. “Be my wife.”
“I...” She wanted to believe. Wanted to spend her life with him, but the cynical part of her, the part that had kept her alive, couldn’t let go. What if he only sought her cooperation to get her to go back into town passively with him?
He saw the doubt in her eyes and growled in frustration just before he plucked her from her perch and threw her over his shoulder like a caveman. He then gently deposited her on the pile of blankets and furs in front of the fire.
“Stay there!” he ordered.
Despite herself, Charity obeyed and discreetly pulled a blanket up to cover her nakedness as she watched him prowl the room looking for something. She had no idea what it might be but kept the question to herself, unwilling to provoke him further. He plucked a graphite pencil from a tin can on the table and, after much internal deliberation, seemed to give up the search and selected an old newspaper from the pile beneath the table. Without a word he leaned over the newspaper and began writing furiously.
After several minutes of writing interspersed with a few thoughtful pauses, he picked up the newspaper and walked over to her before silently surrendering it. Charity watched him warily before her gaze flicked to the paper in her hand. She leaned closer to the fire to make out his surprisingly elegant handwriting in the dim light.
After a moment her lips parted in a silent O. It was a dated and signed order for his bank to pay her an obscene amount of money from his account.
“It’s enough to cover the cost of your home, furnishings, clothing, jewelry, carriage, horses—everything you lost. Every material thing you lost.” He amended. “I’ll accompany you to the bank and it’s yours, whether you marry me or not. Just please don’t rob any more banks.”
Charity was
Charity’s hands clenched tight in her effort to keep from reaching out to him. “What does that mean?”
“I hired a detective to look into where you’d gone. He followed your trail from Boston but you seemed to disappear here in Montana.” He smiled at her skeptical look. “You don’t believe me. In the spring of ‘84 you boarded a train with Elle Stanton bound for St. Louis and then took another to Iowa. A few months later you hired a coach bound for Helena, but when it arrived you and Elle were not on it. I don’t know what happened to you then. We checked each town along the way but found nothing. Finally, last spring the detective thought he’d found you in town and I came as soon as I could get away. I have his reports in my suite in Helena. You’re welcome to review them, but to do that you’ll have to agree to come back to my suite.”
“I want to believe you.” She really did and it was hard to deny the dates. Elle had thought it best not to take a straight route just in case they were followed so it had taken them more than a year to make it to Helena. The hard facade faded and she suddenly looked and felt like the seventeen-year-old girl they both remembered. “But I can’t go back to Boston. All the people who turned their backs on us and then to be your...your...” Could she be his mistress somewhere else? Somewhere besides Boston? She closed her eyes, unwilling to face the truth.
“Wife,” he supplied.
Charity looked into his eyes and tried to find a trace of something that was not genuine, but he only looked strangely boyish and hopeful. “You want to marry me?”
“I love you. After tonight...I know I love you. I can’t lose you again.” His fingers delved into her honeyed hair as he leaned close and kissed her. “Be my wife.”
“I...” She wanted to believe. Wanted to spend her life with him, but the cynical part of her, the part that had kept her alive, couldn’t let go. What if he only sought her cooperation to get her to go back into town passively with him?
He saw the doubt in her eyes and growled in frustration just before he plucked her from her perch and threw her over his shoulder like a caveman. He then gently deposited her on the pile of blankets and furs in front of the fire.
“Stay there!” he ordered.
Despite herself, Charity obeyed and discreetly pulled a blanket up to cover her nakedness as she watched him prowl the room looking for something. She had no idea what it might be but kept the question to herself, unwilling to provoke him further. He plucked a graphite pencil from a tin can on the table and, after much internal deliberation, seemed to give up the search and selected an old newspaper from the pile beneath the table. Without a word he leaned over the newspaper and began writing furiously.
After several minutes of writing interspersed with a few thoughtful pauses, he picked up the newspaper and walked over to her before silently surrendering it. Charity watched him warily before her gaze flicked to the paper in her hand. She leaned closer to the fire to make out his surprisingly elegant handwriting in the dim light.
After a moment her lips parted in a silent O. It was a dated and signed order for his bank to pay her an obscene amount of money from his account.
“It’s enough to cover the cost of your home, furnishings, clothing, jewelry, carriage, horses—everything you lost. Every material thing you lost.” He amended. “I’ll accompany you to the bank and it’s yours, whether you marry me or not. Just please don’t rob any more banks.”
Charity was
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