Little by little, she had felt her husband’s body tense as her story unfolded, and now he burst out with an oath, “If I ever see that jackanapes face to face, I’ll work him over so good he won’t be able to do that to another girl, ever again! And…if he is the one who pushed Mr. Swigert out of the barn loft, that’s attempted murder. For that and for what he did to you, I’ll make sure he hangs!”

  His words, the way he held her so protectively, and the sheer vehemence in his declaration, all worked on Mary’s heart. How could she not fall in love with this man?

  Heaven help her.

  Chapter 12

  D wight sat at his small desk in the corner of David’s large office. The tall, narrow window to his left showed a gray November afternoon, and he was lost in thought as he stared at a framed portrait of Mary and himself, taken by a traveling photographer.

  He remembered the day quite well. The man’s name was Herman Heyn. All of his personal belongings and photographic equipment were stored inside a covered wagon, and he’d come to town looking to open a portrait studio. He had set up shop in a vacant lot next to a recently opened eatery, the Steamboat Café. As luck would have it, Dwight had promised to take his wife to lunch that opening day.

  The intrepid photographer had snagged them just before they had reached the door of the establishment and had flattered and cajoled them into posing for him. Escorting them inside the large tent he’d erected, he’d positioned them just so. Then, just before he’d instructed them to hold still and not breathe while he counted off the exposure time, he had made the comment that all expectant mothers were beautiful, but Mary was downright captivating. The joy in her eyes in the photograph stemmed from the man’s compliment. Matter of fact, the man’s flowery praises toward Mary had rankled Dwight more than he’d like to admit. But Mary had comported herself with her usual modesty.

  Ruminating on that day, he remembered another little scene…

  Inside the café, they had just begun eating when a sandy-haired man wearing boots, blue jeans, a black vest, and black Stetson—which he politely removed—stopped by their table. Ignoring Dwight, the man addressed Mary, “Well, hello there, Mary. Haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. Not since…” he had hesitated and quickly looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Not since that day at court.”

  Court? Dwight had scowled up at the back of the interloper’s head, speculating over who the heck the man was and what his words truly meant.

  Mary smiled at the man politely. “Yes, that’s true. Um…how have you been, Keith?”

  “Oh, can’t complain, can’t complain,” the affable man had answered. He hadn’t paid Dwight so much as an ounce of acknowledgment, which had made him begin to get steamed—especially with the way the man was looking at Mary and she at him. As if there was a secret shared between them.

  It was then that Mary seemed to realize her lapse, and she lifted a hand in his direction. “Keith, um, this is my husband, Dwight Christiansen. Dwight…this is Deputy Keith O’Neill, Tobias’ good friend and…” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “your proxy for our wedding.”

  The man had finally turned toward him, his green eyes glinting with mirth. He’d then had the audacity to toss his head back with a loud ha at Dwight’s glare before leaning over and murmuring in Dwight’s ear, “Yep. She was my wife first, fella. Remember that. Treat her right, or you’ll answer to me.”

  Then, with a bout of raucous laughter, he replaced his Stetson and touched the brim in a playful farewell before sauntering out the door. Only Mary’s gentle hand on his arm had restrained Dwight from going after the popinjay and giving him what for.

  With a soft snort, Dwight shook the memory out of his head and once again focused on the portrait.

  Thanksgiving was steadily approaching, and it seemed Dwight’s delightful little wife was growing bigger with child by the day. Gazing at her pleasant image in the sepia-colored photograph, Dwight could see she had been much smaller at the time.

  Now at nearly seven months enceinte, the baby made his or herself known quite frequently, with movements that fascinated the young couple. On many occasions, Mary had allowed Dwight to put his hand on her belly to feel the child stretching its arms or legs, so he supposed. The mystery and miracle of it never ceased to render him in awe.

  Thinking back over the weeks since their idyllic day together, culminating at the rock—which they had later found out was a popular site the locals had dubbed Lover’s Vista—Dwight found that he actually was enjoying being married…well, as far as their marriage had progressed.

  One problem, however, was they had gotten so good at pretending to be a loving couple in front of others, he continually wondered if Mary was still acting when they were alone. She always spoke to him sweetly and he’d caught her looking at him longingly on more than one occasion—which never failed to ignite an echo of yearning in his own heart.

  The kiss they had shared, high up on that rock that day, had been astounding. Unforgettable. Soul-stirring. But although they had shared chaste kisses since then, in front of an audience, they had not indulged in any serious lip meshing since. One reason for this was that Dwight didn’t want to pressure Mary into anything she didn’t truly wish to do.

  When he thought about how his sweet wife had been so hurt and mistreated, especially by that good-for-nothing swine, Washington Hobbs, a protectiveness rose up so quickly inside Dwight, it made his heart pound and his hands curl into fists. If he ever came face to face with that man, well—heaven help the louse.

  Thinking of Hobbs always brought his mind around to the continuing mystery regarding Mr. Swigert—and whether or not Hobbs was the perpetrator.

  It turned out that Hobbs had, indeed, escaped custody by overpowering a guard in Platte City as he was being taken to court on a separate charge. The constable and his men had scoured the countryside, but he had simply disappeared. Brownville’s sheriff, Dave Plasters, along with his deputies, had searched for clues regarding Mr. Swigert’s unknown assailant up in the barn loft that fateful morning, but to no avail. Even their best tracker had lost the trail about a mile away. It all remained a frustrating mystery.

  Jay Swigert had awakened the next morning with his wife at his bedside, disoriented and in horrible pain. His memory was sketchy at best, possibly due to the concussion. All he remembered was a quick, vague image of dark hair and dark blue eyes—which fit Hobbs—but every time Swigert tried to remember more, his head would ache terribly.

  Dwight smiled as he thought about how the farmer had been worried about the work at his farm that he still needed to do to be ready for winter, and how his neighbors had rallied together and gotten him shipshape in no time. With Swigert’s broken ribs, fractured legs arm and shoulder, and various other smaller injuries—not the least of which was the rather bad concussion—Doc had insisted he remain in the Reeves home until he would be less of a burden to his family.

  That meant that the Swigert family had become somewhat of a fixture at the house—and to Dwight’s delight, it also meant that he could continue to share a bed with Mary…well, in a manner of speaking. The Great Wall of China had still been between them.

  Then, once the family had taken Mr. Swigert home, Dwight had reluctantly taken up residence again on the settee. Although he had hinted and hoped that Mary would invite him to stay in her room…and she had seemed somewhat amenable to the idea…no invitation had been forthcoming. For his part, he had been disinclined to insist, knowing her background and what she had gone through at the hands of that reprobate, Hobbs, so he had remained silent and not pushed the issue.

  Now however, after having spent many nights sleeping only eighteen inches from her, his imagination as he lay on his lonely settee was even more vivid and torturous. The only good to come of that, he mused, was that he was burning through his required stack of legal texts in record time.

  “Where’s your mind, son? I’ve asked you the same question twice,” the voice of his employer, David, startled Dwight out of his deep reverie. At his bewildered look, his boss laughed.

  Guilty at being caught woolgathering when he should have been searching the legal volume in front of him for the case Mr. Mincer had instructed him to find, Dwight looked toward his superior and felt his face heat.

  He opened his mouth to apologize, knowing full well that by the look on Mincer’s face, he could guess where his mind had been, but the man held up a hand to stop him.

  “Don’t worry about it. I think I understand. After all…I was young once, with a pretty little wife to think about.”

  Yes, but I bet you never had to contend with the frustrations that I do…

  Before he was forced to admit the problem, they were interrupted by the outer door to the vestibule opening and, seconds later, a lovely face appeared in the office doorway as if his musings had conjured her up. Mary!

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” her pleasant voice greeted. “I hope I’m not interrupting your work…but I saw Charlie at the mercantile and he asked if I could possibly bring your mail to you, Mr. Mincer,” she explained as she came fully into the room, crossed to his desk, and handed him several envelopes.

  Then, she turned toward Dwight with a smile as fresh as a spring day, removed her outer cloak, and posed rather demurely for him. He realized that she was wearing something new he’d never seen before.

  “What do you think of my new outfit, DJ?” she asked, turning this way and that to allow the skirt to swish. His heart did a funny little flip to hear his nickname on her lips. Much to his pleasure, she had suddenly begun calling him by it the week before. “Thank you for allowing me to get it,” she added softly.

  Dwight dragged his eyes away from her radiant countenance and surveyed the new purple and black plaid, two-piece ensemble. It was, indeed, very attractive on her, although he wondered if the front would be able to expand enough to accommodate her growing baby belly if she got much larger.

  He did not, however, say that out loud.

  Instead, he told her the truth—that she looked positively radiant in it. The glow of happiness on her face made his heart skip and it must have shown on his face because he heard his boss chuckle softly from across the room.

  Mary had spent the morning standing for Charise to complete some last-minute alterations on her new skirt and top, and then she had gone to the mercantile with Pearl, who had most generously insisted on purchasing several sets of undergarments for her—although Mary had tried her best to dissuade her. Between her mother-in-law, Dwight, and Doc, she feared she would be irreparably spoiled.

  While there, she had chanced upon a young couple near the back of the store, stealing a kiss when they thought no one could see them. The sight had quite naturally caused Mary to remember the last time Dwight had kissed her—other than simple pecks for the sake of onlookers—on that idyllic day of their picnic.

  She had relived their thrilling kiss a thousand times.

  Dwight’s lips…they had been so smooth and warm…and the strength of his arms around her… They had flawlessly fit together as if they had been fashioned for one another. And then, his solicitous care during and after the revelations of her sordid history. He’d been so kind and understanding. He hadn’t reacted at all like she had feared.

  Ahh, but his kiss…his touch sent shivers of delight racing up her spine.

  As always, she asked herself if Dwight felt the same way. He was always so…polite! Always the perfect husband. Always the perfect gentleman. She wished for once that he would get hot under the collar and show his real feelings. Indeed, she wished he would grab her up in his arms and kiss her senseless! But, somehow, she knew that he was holding himself back. After she had told him what had happened to her, he’d been nothing but respectful, caring, and had shown great restraint.

  On the heels of that thought came the memory of the two weeks when they had shared her room...a dozen nights when they’d lain eighteen inches apart in her bed with that dratted wall of frustration between them. It might as well have been the bars of a jail cell keeping them apart. Oh, how she had longed for Dwight to take the initiative, fling it across the room, haul her into his arms, and…

  Goodness! Where had those thoughts come from?

  Mary knew she needed to get ahold of her runaway emotions before she made a fool out of herself and alienated the wonderful man to whom she was married. The last thing she wanted to do was chase after him—the way that awful, spoiled girl in Louisville had done. Why, he’d run as fast and as far away from that dreadful Penelope as he could get! Mary had determined she would not make the same mistake. If Dwight wanted to consummate their marriage and cement their relationship, he would let her know. Until then, she would wait. Maybe not patiently, but she would wait, nonetheless.

  She gave a tiny nod to silently agree with herself.

  The bell over the mercantile door had dinged, interrupting her thoughts, and she had seen Charlie come inside. As usual, he was good-naturedly fussing about how many responsibilities he had, and how much mail had come in on that day’s train.

  An idea immediately formed in her head. What if she paid Dwight a visit at his job? She’d never done it before. Perhaps it would let him know she was open to his advances…should he so desire…without forcing him into anything…

  Then, before she could change her mind, she had walked toward the front of the store where Charlie was talking with the owner, Sebastian Hodge, as well as Reverend and Mrs. McKnight.

  She smiled a heartfelt greeting at the latter, before venturing to ask, “Charlie…would you, perhaps, have any mail for Attorney Mincer? I’m going that way and I could take it for you…to help you out.”

  The man’s relieved smile let her know her plan just might work.

  Now, Mary watched as Dwight’s eyes roved over her new blouse and matching skirt and she felt that peculiar sizzle skittering down her nerves as she always did whenever his attention was concentrated on her. She’d grown to love and even crave his attention. She’d even started calling him by his nickname, as a sort of hint that she wanted their relationship to be more …familiar.

  Although she told herself not to, in spite of how conciliatory he always was to her, she knew he could still merely be fulfilling his obligations and acting his part. For the time being, however, she was choosing to enjoy his attention whenever she could get it and pretend that they were the loving couple they appeared to be.

  “Are you busy?” she asked, noticing the open book amid papers of scribbled notations on his desk. The books had become a staple for him as he always seemed to be reading one every spare moment he had—at the dining room table…relaxing in the parlor...riding in the buggy and letting someone else drive. He had even sat up in bed nearly every night and read by lamplight.

  Behind her at his own desk, his boss let go with a sudden guffaw. “In a manner of speaking,” he joked, and although she didn’t immediately understand the meaning, the embarrassed look on Dwight’s face spoke volumes. She had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with her, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine how that could be, since she had only just walked in.

  Feeling emboldened by her pretty new attire, however, she moseyed over to her husband’s desk to practice wifely flirtation. “May I ask what you’re working on?”

  Dwight met her eyes and then leaned a bit to one side to make eye contact with his boss, who apparently indicated the go ahead. Her husband smiled up at her, and her heart fluttered as always in response to the impact of his cute, dimpled smile.

  “I’m looking through previous cases to find one that David remembers—a precedent for the one we are handling now—only I haven’t found it yet. I, um…haven’t been able to concentrate too well this morning,” he added, sounding a bit sheepish, she thought.

  She moved closer to view the page, her skirt brushing his arm and she thought she saw him quiver. Hmm…does that mean he’s as affected by me as I am by him? The thought sent a thrill straight down her body and she held back a grin.

  “A precedent? That’s like an example or pattern, right? An example of what?”

  Dwight seemed to be astonished at her comment, and she was secretly thankful for Pauline’s continued tutoring. She had only learned that word a week before when Pauline had created a study sheet of legal terms, upon Mary’s request.

  “Well, um…” he paused as David got up and retrieved a chair from against the wall, brought it over, and placed it next to Dwight’s desk with a show of chivalry, murmuring, “Have a seat, my dear.”

  Mary thanked him sincerely, since lately her lower back would ache when she stood for longer than five minutes. Settling down onto the chair, she suppressed a sigh of relief before turning back to her husband. He was looking at her rather shamefacedly.

  “Sorry I didn’t think of getting you a chair, Mary,” he mumbled, but she reached out and touched his hand with a gentle smile to let him know not to worry.

  “To answer your question, the case we’re working on has to do with two landowners,” he continued. “Two farms, side by side, on the road to Nemaha. Seems the two got into an argument over boundary lines, or rather, boundary stones, and landowner A hired a surveyor to come from Nebraska City. His conclusion differed from the stones by about twenty feet, putting into jeopardy the new hog pen that had been built by landowner B. So, landowner A hired us to settle the matter. I’m looking for a similar case recorded in these books from a few years back, to see how the judge ruled.”

  Mary thought about that for a moment. “Well…why would the survey say different?”

  Dwight grinned at her. “That’s the question.”

  Remembering an incident from her childhood, Mary hesitated to mention it as it seemed rather simple, nonetheless, she decided to continue. “Unless…” she glanced at Mr. Mincer, who was listening and looking her way. “Unless the boundary stone was moved and neither of the landowners did it. It could have been moved by say, one of their children? That happened one time when I was small. We lived in Omaha in a boarding house,” she went on, “and one day Hank and I were playing out in the backyard. Well, he found a large stone and rolled it into the yard of the boarding house, to add to a pile he was using to make a fort. Turned out it was a boundary stone between the boarding house and the farm behind it. Oh my, Papa wore out the seat of Hank’s britches over that one,” she added with a laugh, remembering the incident clearly.

 

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