Morgan held Jane’s green eyes. Not merely green, he saw, but emerald, and startling for their radiance. Would she blame him when she regarded herself in the mirror one day and observed the brilliance had dulled? Hardship and isolation could do that. Could he bear to look at her, knowing he was at fault whether she said so or not? Morgan needed to consider that. He needed twenty-four hours.
“Well?” he asked.
“You will have to pay for my lodging, Mr. Longstreet.”
“Of course.”
“All right.”
“You accept?”
“I do, yes.”
He nodded. “This way, then.”
The ride to the Pennyroyal Saloon and Hotel was filled with new experiences for Jane Middlebourne, chief among them being sitting on the thinly padded and springy buckboard seat. After being jostled sideways against the steely arm of her companion, she gripped the seat on either side of her and gamely held on. She expected that Morgan Longstreet would find some amusement in her efforts, but when she stole a sideways glance at his profile, she saw his mouth was set more grimly than it had been a moment before. She could not have imagined that was even possible.
The main thoroughfare of the town was wide and open. She had expected that from the reading she did prior to leaving New York. She had wondered how much she could trust the descriptions in periodicals and dime novels, but this detail was right. The town had erected itself around cattle drives and commerce, and shops of every sort lined the length of the street. She recognized a young man from the train ducking into Johnson’s Mercantile with a couple she supposed were his parents. Another man, this one a gregarious older gentleman who had introduced himself to her on the train as the owner of Rush’s Hardware, was engaged in animated conversation with someone sweeping the walk outside the drugstore.
Morgan Longstreet offered no narrative as the buckboard bumped along, and Jane did not ask any questions that might have invited one. She was curious about the fighting, or the lack of it. Her reading led her believe she could expect to witness at least one brawl and perhaps a gunfight. The latter seemed especially unlikely since not one of the men she saw was wearing a gun belt. The only man she thought might be spoiling for a fight was the one beside her. Jane was unafraid that he would turn fists on her, but she felt some concern on behalf of the next man who crossed him.
She hoped it would not be Dr. Wanamaker. They had shared a bench seat on the train from Cheyenne to Bitter Springs, the last leg of her long journey. She had spoken very little during that time as all of her thoughts had been turning inward. His comment that he had enjoyed her company was a mere pleasantry. Mostly her quiet had elicited his concern, which he continued to show when he reminded her that he would be staying at the Pennyroyal. Now so would she.
And so would Morgan Longstreet.
Perhaps she would be a witness to Western violence after all.
Jane pushed that thought to the back of her mind as the buckboard rattled past the marshal’s office. The marshal was at that moment holding the door open for a woman who joined him on the sidewalk. He wore a star on his beaten brown leather duster; she wore a white ostrich plume in her blue velvet hat. They settled comfortably arm in arm as they began walking. They seemed to notice the passing wagon at the same time. Their heads came up. Jane thought the woman nudged the marshal with her elbow, but her coat was heavy and Jane couldn’t be sure. She did not mistake that the marshal smiled in the way people do when they were sharing a secret.
Morgan, she saw, nodded coolly and then resumed staring straight ahead. “Who are they?”
“The marshal and his wife. Cobb and Tru Bridger.”
“They know.”
He looked sideways at her. “Know?”
Morgan Longstreet was not the only one who did not like to appear foolish. “They know about us.” When he said nothing, Jane shook her head. “I had an inkling.”
“An inkling,” he repeated. “Do you have one often?”
“Often enough to know that I should keep them to myself.”
Morgan pointed up ahead and to the right. “That’s the Pennyroyal.”
“What if there are no rooms available?”
“There is at least one.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because I reserved it earlier,” he said. “For us. For tonight. For after we were married.”
“Oh.”
“I was thinking of your comfort.”
She smiled a little at that. “That was kind of you.”
