Rowena put away the milk and the meat before she opened the envelope that Faraday’s ranch hand had delivered with the twice-weekly supplies. Inside the envelope she found a scribbled note and a stiff vellum card with a printed invitation.
She had to read the text twice before the message sank in.
“Dale! Dale!” Flapping the invitation in one hand, she hurried outside, round the back to where the foal and the mare grazed in a small corral. Mr. Spencer’s Indian trackers had already hunted down the mountain lion, but they preferred to keep the foal close by, just in case.
“Dale, you won’t believe this!” Panting, she came to a stop.
Dale was bent over, cleaning the mare’s hooves. He merely grunted in reply. Too impatient to wait for him to finish the chore, Rowena blurted out her news. “Faraday has sent us an invitation to a ball in Cheyenne. A fund-raiser for the statehood campaign. His eldest son’s employer, Insurance Company of North America, is sponsoring the event. Faraday can’t go, but he has asked if we would like to use the tickets.”
The worn flannel shirt stretched across Dale’s shoulders as he bent to set the hoof of the mare back against the ground. He straightened, pushed back his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “A ball? In Cheyenne?”
“Yes.” She frowned at him. “Why would he invite us? Could it be a trap?”
Dale shook his head. “No. In truth, I’ve been expecting some kind of a friendly overture. Faraday knows I’ve been talking to Spencer. He doesn’t want to be left at a disadvantage. Offering the tickets to us will cost him nothing, and I very much doubt he could afford to go himself, with the train fare and the overnight stay.”
“Could we...could we go?”
“It’s a long way.”
Her mouth opened and closed. She wanted to go, so badly she ached with it. But she couldn’t bear the prospect of asking for something and having her request turned down again. “My lovely evening gowns... I never get a chance to wear them...”
“You’d travel all the way to Cheyenne just to wear a pretty gown?”
“And to sightsee. When we came through last time, I was too nervous to pay attention to my surroundings. And we had no money.”
Dale’s mouth tipped into a crooked smile. “Wedding night nerves. I remember.”
She lifted her chin, amusement and a touch of smug pride in her expression. “From what I recall, I managed quite well, thank you very much.”
With a few lazy steps, Dale closed the distance between them. He wound his finger into a strand of hair escaped from her upsweep and tugged at it, drawing her toward him. “We could have a second honeymoon. See if we can improve.”
She could smell the horse and hay on him, could feel the heat of his body. Her heart was beating very fast. He was making her forget why she had sought him out, but the mental image of them gliding together across a dance floor reminded her, and she could not hold back the words. “Can we go? Please?”
“Yes, if it matters so much to you. I have business to take care of in Cheyenne anyway.”
“Thank you.” Bouncing up on tiptoe, Rowena wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a big, smacking kiss on the mouth.
Dale chuckled and disentangled himself. “I’m sweaty and dirty. Save it for tonight.”
With a smile and a wave, Rowena left him to his tasks and hurried back inside. There’d be music, an orchestra. At school, she had learned to play the piano. She had shown great aptitude, but the lack of an instrument at Twin Springs deprived her of the opportunity to enjoy the skill.
Upstairs, she riffled through the dresses she had unpacked from her trunks. Her jewelry had been safe, too, in a leather case beneath the clothing. Once again, she fought a burst of curiosity over the big inlaid chest that Reese had left behind, with his late wife’s belongings. Like those other times, she conquered the urge to peek inside.
Crossing the room to the dressing table with a mirror, Rowena draped her mother’s gold-and-sapphire necklace against her throat. With a touch of sadness, she inspected the single matching earring. Too grand for everyday wear, her mother had worn the earrings anyway, and when she’d been killed by the Shoshone one of them had gone missing. Either it had got lost in the sand by the river, or it now hung from the earlobe of an Indian brave. With a sigh, Rowena put the earring away. Lost is lost. Dead is dead. Time to forgive and forget.
The splendor of it! Rowena kept turning her head, taking in the crowded ballroom. Electric lights hummed in the ceiling. Electric lights, in a private residence!
“Don’t gawk,” Dale whispered into her ear.
“How could I not?” she whispered back.
They’d arrived in the afternoon, and she had enjoyed the comforts of their room at High Meadows while Dale went out to take care of errands. Tomorrow, she would make the most of the opportunity to look around Cheyenne, the city the newspapers called the Paris of the West, a fashionable playground for the rich.
“There’s Major Parks,” Dale said. “I had a message at the Western Union office that he wants to see me. Do you mind if I go over and find out what he wants?”
“Not at all,” she replied with a quick smile. “I’ll be happy gawking.”
Dale walked away. She followed him with her eyes. Lean, with wide shoulders and narrow hips, he carried his clothes well. He must be one of the handsomest men in the room, she thought with pride, even though he wore an ordinary suit in black broadcloth, instead of a fancy evening suit or a military uniform, like some of the other men.
With a flare of uncertainty, Rowena cast a critical eye over the ladies gossiping in groups. The artificial light gave a sickly pallor to those with a very pale complexion, and brightly colored dresses looked too dazzling. The slight tan that marked her as a farm wife might be flattering, after all, and her gown—silver satin trimmed with midnight blue—had been a good choice. Fortunately, the fashions had changed little since she had acquired her Boston gowns, although the bustles gathered at the back of a dress had grown bigger.
With a sigh, Rowena relaxed. She’d hold her own. Once Dale returned to her side, they would seek out a representative of the Insurance Company of North America, thank him for the chance to attend. Right now, the orchestra on the balcony was playing Mozart, but later there would be dancing. She could already imagine herself gliding around the ballroom in Dale’s arms.
A group of young men talking too loudly jostled around the punch bowl, blocking access to everyone else. Rowena craned her neck for a better look. If there was going to be an altercation of some sort, she was curious to witness it.
Her eyes fell on a head of golden hair, on a patrician profile. It felt as if her heart had stopped beating. It can’t be...surely it can’t be. But it could. And it was. She must have made a sound, for people turned to look at her. And then Freddy turned, too, and their eyes met.
He had changed in the three years since they’d parted. His features had grown puffy, and there was a new slackness to the line of his jaw, but he still presented a picture of masculine elegance. At first, Rowena could read joy in his expression. In the next instant, the pleasure of recognition vanished and an ugly sneer took its pace. He put down his drink, said something to his companions and forged a path toward her through the crowd.
The distance between them allowed Rowena a moment to steel herself against the reunion before they stood face-to-face. Freddy came to a halt before her, swaying on his feet in a manner that revealed he had already consumed too much punch.
“Rowena, what are you doing here?”
No courtesy of a greeting. Only the discourtesy of using her given name. If overheard by others, the familiarity might be enough to tarnish her reputation.
Before she could gather her wits and find a way to defuse the situation, Freddy went on, “Of course, you live in Wyoming. How could I forget?” His brows lifted in disdain. “Tell me, how is the cattle business? The huge herds roaming on your father’s endless land?”
“My father is dead. And I am married now. It’s Mrs. Hunter to you.”
“You are married?” For an instant, the world-weary mask on Freddy’s face slipped to reveal some inner pain. Then he rocked back on his feet and smirked at her. “So, you finally found some man who wanted those miserable acres of yours enough to marry you. Or did you lie to him, like you lied to me?”
“I never lied to you.”
“You didn’t?” His face puckered in an exaggerated frown of concentration. “What was it you said? Oh, yes.” His voice rose in a shrill imitation of a female. “‘I spent hours trying to count the cows but there were so many I never managed it.’ And what else? Oh, yes. ‘We rode to the boundary of the ranch and it felt like traveling to the end of the earth.’” He shook his head, an angry gesture that conveyed a bitter accusation. “No, you never lied to me.”
“I was talking about my childhood, describing the ranch through the eyes of a child.”
“Tell me.” Freddy’s demeanor gained a trace of cruelty. “How did your husband react when he saw the ranch?” Not allowing her a chance to reply, her former fiancé took a step back and swept a bold, sleazy look up and down her body. “Or did you use your feminine charms to make sure he married you before he had a chance to discover the truth? In that case, you did a better job of locking him in than you did on me.”
Shame burned on Rowena’s cheeks. He was making her sound like a slut, a whore. She wanted to say something to contradict him. To make sure all those people overhearing the conversation would understand he was talking out of spite, his remarks unjustified.
But there was a grain of truth to it. She had wanted to consummate the marriage with Dale before he set eyes on Twin Springs. She couldn’t sweep Freddy’s comments aside as lies, but neither could she pick his words apart to point out the untruths, for a lady could not talk about such intimate details, at least not in public.
Tears pricked behind her eyelids, tears of shame and humiliation and disappointment. She had looked forward to the trip, to the ball, to a festive night, and it had all turned to poison. Clenching her beaded reticule in her hands, she gathered the shreds of her pride.
“It has been a pleasure to see you again, Freddy. Give my best to your family.”
She turned and fled. Unable to see ahead, she crashed into something solid and unyielding. Strong hands curled around her upper arms and halted her progress. She looked up and saw Dale looking down at her, concern in his eyes.
Dale, oh, Dale, she wanted to cry. Take me away from here.
“Is that belligerent young pup your former fiancé?” The sharpness of Dale’s tone told Rowena he knew something was wrong, but she had no means of figuring out how much of the conversation he might have overheard.
“Can we leave?” she pleaded. “Now, at once?”
Dale shook his head. “No. By the look of it, you have some unfinished business, and I didn’t marry a coward.” He spun her around by the shoulders and nudged her into motion, sending her right back toward Freddy, who was now surrounded by his friends, the way an executioner might be surrounded by a jeering crowd.
She could not speak. Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. Maybe she could close her eyes and pretend to succumb to a swoon. Hiding behind such subterfuge was a lady’s privilege, after all.
“Well, cherie, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
She heard Dale’s calm, steady voice beside her. Unlike at school, when she’d felt an outsider among the wealthy girls, she was not alone. Rowena drew a shaky breath and steadied her voice. “Dale, I would like to introduce you to Frederick Livingston, an old friend from my school days in Boston. Freddy, this is Dale Hunter, my husband.”
Dale gave a tiny bow, in the style of a Southern gentleman. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Livingston.”
“Hunter.” Freddy’s nod was haughty, superior.
“What a stroke of luck,” Dale went on. “I’ve just received a gift from my mother to my bride. We didn’t have any of Rowena’s friends at our wedding, so it seems fitting to have one of them to witness the occasion.” He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a small velvet box and clipped it open. “Your engagement ring, cherie. Sorry for the delay in getting it sent out. Major Parks delivered it in person.”
Fascinated, Rowena peeked into the box. The biggest diamond she had ever seen nestled against the black velvet, sparkling under the steady glow of the electric lights.
“That’s a fancy piece of glass,” Freddy said, but his voice lacked its former belligerence.
Dale’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a diamond, as flawless as my wife’s beauty. I guess with all your family heirlooms sold off years ago and replaced with paste, you lack the ability to tell the difference.”
Freddy was spluttering now, going purple in the face, but Rowena paid him no attention. Dale’s words about the Countess of Clairmont and her grisly end sent a shiver of apprehension through her. She stole a glance at her husband. “Did she...? Did she...?”
Dale gave her a reassuring shake of his head. “Did the countess go to the guillotine wearing the ring? No, she did not. She hid all her jewels in the garden of the family chateau long before. Her young nephew, my great-great-grandfather, a boy at the time, kept his head—both literally and figuratively—and recovered the jewels later.”
Dale took out the ring and slipped the empty box into his pocket. “Well, give me your hand, cherie. This is meant to go on your finger, to mark that you belong to me.”
The room had hushed to silence now, with everyone listening, only the music playing softly in the background. Spellbound, Rowena held out her left hand.
Dale eased the ring over her third finger, next to her plain wedding band. “See?” he said softly. “It’s a perfect fit. Like the slipper for Cinderella.”
But Freddy was not quite done yet. He burst into a crude gust of laughter. “You think of yourself as Prince Charming, Hunter? Whatever gave you the idea?” He drew a line along his cheek, marking the position of Dale’s scar. “More like the beauty and the beast.”
Dale pretended to give the question careful consideration. “Do I think of myself as Prince Charming? No, not at all. It must be my mother who thinks I’m a prince among men. But then, every mother likes to believe the best of their son. I’m sure yours does, too, as misguided as she may be.”
When Freddy struggled for a reply, Dale made an airy gesture with his hand. “You might have heard of my mother, Madeline Hunter? Hunter Ironworks? Hunter Steel? Hunter Locomotives? Mother likes to think she is notorious, the way she took over the running of the companies after Father died. A woman holding her own in a man’s world.”
“Your mother is Madeline Hunter?”
“Yes. Unless I was a changeling.”
“But why did you...” Freddy’s brow pleated in confusion. “Why did you marry a woman lacking in wealth or connections? You could have had anyone.”
Dale replied with a bright smile. “Precisely. And I chose this one.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if speaking in confidence, but Rowena knew that every word would carry around the ballroom. “See, Livingston, some men are too cowardly to defy domineering parents, and some men have to marry to fill the empty family coffers. I was lucky enough to be free to follow my own wishes.”
Someone on the organizing committee of the ball must have alerted the orchestra to the fracas, for the mellow notes of the Mozart violin concerto came to an abrupt end. After a couple of discordant notes, the first bars of a waltz flowed over the crowd.
Dale put his hand out. “Will you dance with me, cherie?”
Rowena slipped her hand into his. As they whirled around the vast expanse of the parquet floor that had quickly filled with couples, she blinked away the mist of tears. “Why was he so vile? Why does he hate me so?”
“He doesn’t hate you. I think he may have been in love with you, but he was too cowardly to defy his family. It is himself he hates, his own weakness that caused him to give you up against his will, but it is easier to take it out on you.”
“Can we leave?” The weight of curious stares made her body feel stiff and clumsy. She hated scenes, hated the hushed whispers she knew were about her. Despite Dale’s gallant intervention, she couldn’t help feeling that the evening had been ruined.
Dale tightened his arm around her and spun her in a tight turn. “No,” he told her. “We must stay. If we go home, it will leave him free to spread his lies and innuendo. Don’t let him win. The way to beat him is to stay and let him see what he lost when he let you go.”
Dale danced with his wife, but at the same time he kept an eye on that belligerent young pup, Livingston. The scalawag was talking to his friends, gesticulating, glancing over to the dance floor with an increasing air of glee. From the crafty look on Livingston’s face, Dale guessed the young man must have stumbled upon another way to renew his attack.
And Dale could guess what that line of attack might be. He should have kept his mouth shut. Or at least he should have kept his mother’s name out of it, should never have mentioned the family business. But he had seen the hurt on Rowena’s face, and he had used every means at his disposal to protect her, even at the risk of giving away a connection to his past.
For nearly an hour, they were left in peace, while Livingston sought extra courage from the punch bowl. When the orchestra took a break and the dancing couples ceased their spinning, the young man ambled over. He shook his head and spoke with a feigned look of concern.
“I don’t know how you can sleep at night, Rowena.”
Don’t fall for it, Dale pleaded in his mind.
But of course she did. Too well brought up to ignore a comment addressed to her, Rowena replied, “What do you mean?”
Livingston was shaking his head. “I mean, don’t you lie awake at night, fearing that a knife will slice into your belly?”
“I...” Rowena hesitated, stole a glance at Dale. He could see confusion in her eyes, confusion and fear, and the dawning of understanding. When she spoke, her voice was small and tight, betraying her doubts. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Freddy.”
Livingston gloated in triumph. “That you are sleeping beside a murderer, of course. Dale Hunter killed three men in cold blood. Shot two of them—in the back, I wager—and gutted the third one like a fish. He avoided the hangman’s noose by going into hiding. Spent ten years on the outlaw trail, robbing stagecoaches and banks.”
Dale could feel Rowena stiffen by his side. She wasn’t turning to look at him, at least not yet. Don’t ask me if it is true, Dale prayed. Not here. Not now.
And his prayers were answered. Rowena lifted her chin in a haughty gesture. An utter calm seemed to have settled over her, but Dale knew it was all those etiquette lessons taking over. Barricading her mind against the information, against the need to separate the truth from the lies, Rowena was merely seeking a way out without allowing the scandal to escalate.
“I very much doubt my husband is guilty of such atrocities. He was employed as a federal marshal, after all. Any violence must have been committed in the line of duty, to protect women and children and make this country safe.”
Livingston’s coarse laughter rippled around the room. “You fool. He was an outlaw until a few years ago, when his mother got him a pardon. They say Madeline Hunter used her connections in Washington.” A sly grin spread on Livingston’s face. He leaned closer to Rowena and lowered his voice. “But we all know about a woman’s connections, don’t we?”
Dale took a step forward. “Livingston, I’m warning you. Rein in your tongue.”
Ignoring him, Livingston straightened, swaying on his feet, and shouted at the top of his voice, “Flat on her back, she must have been when she used her influence to buy her son’s freedom. Flat on her back, like a two-bit whore.”
Dale let his arm swing and relished the impact as his fist crashed into Livingston’s jaw. The young man toppled backward. People had already scurried out of the way, and Livingston landed on the polished parquet floor without careening into anyone else.
When Livingston lay in a sprawl, Dale bent over him and grabbed him by the front of his fancy evening coat. “Not a single word more, Livingston, unless you want to wake up one night and feel the blade of my knife carving out your entrails.”
Livingston paled. Dale flung him back down to the floorboards, straightened and turned toward Rowena. She was standing very still, like a statue. Her face was totally without expression. Only her eyes seemed alive, and they were flickering over him—his chest, his belly, his legs. Every part of his body where scars—now hidden from sight by the pristine white shirt and the black broadcloth suit—bore evidence of his violent past.
“Rowena...we need to talk.”
She nodded, too distressed to speak. The fingers of her right hand were toying with the rings on her wedding finger, nervously twisting the gold bands around, as if already preparing to remove them. Dale felt the tension drain out of him, giving way to a sense of defeat. He’d always known that nothing could be settled in his marriage until he had told Rowena the truth about his past.
But although down on the floor, Livingston had not given up the fight.
“See that?” the young man yelled. “Hunter assaulted me, in front of witnesses. Someone fetch the sheriff.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, studied the streak of blood. When he looked up at Dale, his features distorted with hatred, but then a cunning smirk lit up his face. “That’s right. Fetch the sheriff! Maybe there never really was a pardon at all. Maybe there’s still a warrant out on him.”
From the corner of his eye, Dale could see Major Parks set into motion and clear a path through the crowd. Managing to catch the older man’s attention, Dale shook his head. Major Parks frowned in protest but he halted his advance. If, as Dale suspected, there was something between his mother and the major—who had been involved in his pardon, even if merely in a limited capacity—anything the major did now to help would only provide another ingredient to the already thick brew of scandal.
“You were right,” Dale said to Rowena. “We should have left.”
He ushered her out of the ballroom. People parted to make way, staring at them in curious silence. Outside, darkness had fallen, but the electric lights in front of the mansion created an island of daylight.
“We’ll go to the station,” Dale said. “There’s a night train back to Rawlins.”
“But our things...they are at the hotel.”
He took the first step of telling her the truth. “My certificate of pardon is at Twin Springs. I want to go home, before anyone gets the bright idea to throw me in jail.”