A reception was held for the bride and groom at the home of Archer Tubbston, the town banker. Besides the two families, several interested townspeople—merchants and such—had also attended the wedding, sitting in the very back pews. Archer Tubbston was among them. When he had heard about the wedding, he had insisted on hosting the reception. “After all,” he had said, “it isn’t every day a feud ends.”
Emaline didn’t see why Mr. Tubbston was so glad to see the feud ended. The bank had made a fortune foreclosing on properties when a rancher was killed and the surviving widow couldn’t meet the mortgage payments. But she supposed everyone would be glad to know the streets were safe to walk again. There had been some incidents over the years in which innocent people—neither Bentons nor Winthrops—had been hurt. The cattle stampede through Bitter Creek that had killed Rufus Winthrop, Sissy Benton, and Bethanne Fleet was just one example.
Neither Bentons nor Winthrops would admit to firing the first shot that had started the stampede. It had simply been a case of one of the numerous altercations between warring factions getting out of hand. Clearly, both sides were to blame. The senseless feud had caused three senseless deaths. No wonder Bethanne’s father was inconsolable, Emaline thought.
The punch at the reception was nonalcoholic, and though there were musicians, there was no dancing. At least, not at first. One of the differences between Winthrops and Bentons was how strictly they followed Baptist tenets. Winthrops drank but didn’t dance. Bentons danced but didn’t drink.
Emaline should have suspected that Conn would ask his bride to dance. As soon as the violins began to play a waltz, he turned to her and said, “Shall we dance?”
She was sure he expected her to refuse, thereby creating a confrontation. She was equally determined to avoid an altercation at all costs. The solution was obvious. She simply said, “I don’t know how.”
“It’s easy. I’ll teach you,” Conn replied.
He didn’t offer her a choice in the matter. Emaline tensed as Conn’s hand slid around her waist. It appeared there was no avoiding the situation. She laid her hand in his palm and allowed him to move her in time to the music.
“Just count one-two-three, one-two-three,” Conn instructed as he swung her in ever-widening circles around the Tubbston’s parlor.
Emaline felt as if she were flying. She had never realized how much fun it was to dance, otherwise she would surely have sinned much sooner. She ignored her brother’s glare as she whirled by him. It was past time the Winthrops learned to be a bit more tolerant of the Bentons. Dancing was perfectly harmless.
Then she realized that Conn had closed the space between them until no more than an inch separated them. She felt his breath against her cheek, felt the heat of him along the entire length of her body, which was responding in strange and wonderful ways. No wonder the preacher had called dancing “a fornication of the spirit.” She had never been so aware of a man as she was of Conn. It was like making love standing up fully clothed in a roomful of people.
When the dance ended, Emaline tore herself free and walked quickly toward an empty corner of the room. Conn followed her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’ve never danced before, that’s all. I had no idea . . .”
“It could be so much fun?” Conn finished.
“It could feel so sinful!” Emaline snapped back.
“Could feel so sinfully good, you mean.”
“Everything we do together from now on will be subject to scrutiny,” Emaline said, keeping her voice low. “I would simply prefer not to give my friends and family any more reason to talk about us than they already have.”
“I see.”
Conn wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to have Emaline Winthrop beneath him in bed. He had been surprised by her willingness to dance, pleased by how quickly she had caught the rhythm of the waltz, and appalled by how much he had wanted to feel her body moving in concert with his.
He had loved dancing with Josie, but the differences in their heights had made it more difficult to stay in step. Emaline had moved with him as though they had been dancing together for years. It had been an unsettling experience, but one that he realized he was more than willing to repeat. But perhaps Emaline was right. There was no sense making a spectacle of themselves.
“All right. If you don’t want to dance, perhaps we should find somewhere to sit and have something to eat.”
Conn took Emaline’s elbow to lead her toward the immense tables of food that had been set out. It was then he noticed Devlin Winthrop dancing . . . with Conn’s own widowed sister-in-law.
Conn stopped dead in his tracks, his hold on Emaline’s arm necessarily bringing her to a halt as well. She looked up at him, then followed the direction of his gaze to the dance floor. She couldn’t have been more shocked. Her brother, Devlin, was dancing! She hadn’t even suspected he knew how. Even more shocking was the fact that he was dancing with a Benton woman.
Emaline was immediately aware of the hush that had fallen in the Tubbstons’ parlor. It was all well and good for Emaline and Conn to dance. They were setting an example for the future. But it seemed the future was collapsing in on them. Emaline wondered what had possessed Devlin to approach the woman. And why she had accepted his offer to dance.
Because Emaline was watching the couple closely, she saw something that made her blood run cold. She recognized the look on the woman’s face, because she had experienced the same feeling with Conn. Carnal awareness arced between her brother and the Benton woman. They never took their eyes off each other, and their bodies seemed to hum with sensual energy.
Because she was just learning to recognize the signs herself, it took Emaline a moment to realize that Conn saw the same thing she did. Before she could stop him, he stalked past her, headed for the dance floor. Emaline hurried to catch up with him.
She used those few moments to take the Benton woman’s measure. She was petite, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. She was also slender, but with the full bosom and hips that Emaline lacked. Devlin’s head was bent over to listen as the woman spoke to him. There was a smile on her brother’s lips.
Fortunately, the dance was just ending, so as far as the rest of the guests were concerned, it appeared that Conn and Emaline were merely greeting the other couple.
Before Conn could say a word, Emaline slipped her arm through his and said, “I didn’t know you two were acquainted.” Emaline faced the Benton woman. “We haven’t met. I’m Emaline Win—Benton,” she finished.
“I’m Melody Benton.”
“My brother Andrew’s widow,” Conn supplied in a steely voice. He fixed a glare on Devlin. “I’m warning you now to stay away from my sister-in-law.”
“Melody might have something to say about that,” Devlin replied.
“She doesn’t know Winthrops like I do,” Conn said.
“Meaning what?” Devlin challenged.
“Please, Dev,” Melody said in a quiet voice, laying her hand on Devlin’s sleeve. “Remember your promise.”
The fact that Melody had used Devlin’s nickname gave Emaline pause. She stared entranced as her brother laid a gentle hand over Melody’s. Promise? What promise? Hadn’t the two of them just met? Obviously not. But when had their romance begun, and how? Emaline wanted to get Devlin alone to question him.
“All right, Melody. I won’t cause any trouble,” Devlin said. He turned to Conn. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Then let go of my brother’s wife.”
Conn had given his order in a voice that could be heard around the room. Emaline saw the subtle shifting as Winthrops and Bentons aligned themselves on opposite sides. The truce was in danger of exploding into violence right here and now. If she’d had a skillet handy she would have used it on Conn. How could he endanger the truce now?
Emaline saw the way Devlin’s fist clenched, saw Melody’s face turn white, and knew she had to find a way to stop this altercation before it got started. Melody beat her to it.
“Andrew is dead, Conn. He has been for five years. I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.”
“As guardian of my brother’s children, I think I have some say—”
“You have nothing to say in this,” Devlin interrupted.
“The hell I don’t!”
“Dev! Conn!” Emaline put herself physically between the two men. “In case you’ve both forgotten, this is my wedding day. I won’t have my husband and my brother coming to blows. Is that understood?” She fixed each of them with a warning glare.
Emaline noticed the way Melody’s hand tightened on Devlin’s arm. Her own hand tightened on Conn’s sleeve. At that moment the musicians began to play another waltz.
Emaline turned to face her husband. “Shall we dance, Conn?”
Conn hesitated a moment, until Devlin led Melody off the dance floor, then he swept Emaline into his arms.
Emaline felt a palpable easing of tension in the parlor. Bentons and Winthrops mingled again and began to talk in low tones. The danger had passed.
Emaline recognized Conn’s anger in the tautness of his shoulder where her hand rested. It was better, she believed, to confront the problem than to ignore it so she said, “How long do you think they’ve known each other?”
Conn let out a gusty sigh. “Hell if I know. But it’s plain as a red barn they didn’t just meet today.”
“I always wondered why Dev never married,” Emaline murmured. “Now I understand. How awful it must have been for them, to be in love yet not free to be together.”
“Oh, they’ve been together. I’d lay odds on that,” Conn said with a snarl of disgust.
Emaline realized suddenly the cause of all Dev’s spluttering when she had first suggested a Winthrop marry a Benton. He must have wanted to shout that he and Melody would be a better couple to marry under the circumstances. Obviously, it would have been difficult to suggest such a thing when he supposedly didn’t even know her. Nor could he speak for Melody without having a chance to ask her whether it was what she wanted. And things had been settled on the spot.
Emaline felt a sharp pang of regret. Her wedding to Conn might not have been necessary. On the other hand, she could see a multitude of problems that would have arisen if Dev and Melody had admitted to their clandestine relationship. Accusations and admonitions such as the ones Conn had hurled might have been made on both sides. It was better this way, she concluded. Besides, it was too late to change anything now. She was already married to Conn.
“To have to meet in secret can’t have been what either of them wanted,” Emaline said, raising her eyes to meet Conn’s. “If I were in love—”
She cut herself off. Love wasn’t any part of her arrangement with Conn Benton. Nor did it seem he had any sympathy for her brother and his sister-in-law. His hate and distrust of Bentons had been growing for years. Saying words before a preacher hadn’t done a thing to ease his animosity. Emaline bit her lip to hold back the cry of despair that sought voice. She had embarked on a fool’s errand. She would be lucky if she survived it whole.
Someone had secretly added liquor to the punch, and the reception gradually became rowdy. There were minor fracases, which either Jeremiah or Horace managed to quell.
Emaline looked for John Fleet at the reception but couldn’t find him. She took advantage of a moment when Conn was involved in drinking toasts with his friends and family to escape the noise and commotion. She was subjected to a few stares from passersby, which she ignored as she made her way down Main Street, but she didn’t return to the reception. She needed to be alone for a little while.
Emaline hadn’t realized herself where she was going until she found herself at the door to the blacksmith’s shop. Fleet shouldn’t have been there, since it was nearly dusk. To her surprise, he was working at the forge. Sweat glistened on his hairy torso, which was bare except for a worn leather apron. A red bandanna caught the rivulets of perspiration that ran down his neck.
Without a thought to what damage the pervasive soot or an errant spark could do to her wedding dress, she entered the darkened interior of the shop. She stared, fascinated, as the bellows heated the embers. A horseshoe lay in the fire, turning a glowing red from the heat. Fleet held the shoe with a set of tongs, and as she watched he withdrew it from the fire and shaped it with deafening blows from a heavy hammer.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there when he finally noticed her. He wasn’t happy to see her.
“What do you want now?” he demanded.
Emaline swallowed hard. “I suppose you know I married Conn Benton today.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“The feud is over now,” Emaline said. “Or it will be soon,” she hurried to amend. A baby had to be born first.
“Am I supposed to be happy about that?”
“Well, yes,” Emaline said. “It will mean an end to the killing.”
He looked at her with sad eyes and spoke in a bitter voice. “It comes too late. My daughter is dead.”
He plunged the horseshoe back into the fire and ignored her as though she wasn’t even there. Emaline backed out of the shop and ran down the back alleys until she reached the Tubbstons’ house, breathless and trembling. She merged with the crowd that had spread out through the back door as though she had never been gone.
It wasn’t for nothing, she thought. It may be too late for Bethanne, but not for a lot of others.
Emaline was still a little breathless, though her trembling had stopped, when it was time for the bride and groom to head for home. Conn lifted her into a spring wagon he had brought to take her to his ranch. Sometime during the reception, the wagon had been decorated with ribbons and paper bunting. Everyone followed in wagons and carriages and on horseback. They all had an interest in making sure this marriage was consummated.
Meanwhile Emaline’s virginal fears grew to monstrous proportions. It was bad enough to be facing a stranger in bed. It was a hundred times worse knowing he cared little or nothing for her feelings. This was not what she had envisioned when she thought of her wedding night. Emaline suddenly wasn’t sure she could go through with it.