The Marriage Agreement

“Where’s your woman?” May asked, darting a look toward the doorway. “We have a piano player and half a duet here. All we need is the star of the show.”

Charlie’s fingers chorded softly, and a ring of smoke rose over his head as he played. He’d offered no protest at Morgan’s request to play at such an ungodly hour and watched the same doorway that held May’s attention.

The woman who appeared there had the benefit of sunlight behind her, the red streaks of dawn having given way to early-morning gold. Her dress formed a lissome silhouette around her as she hesitated, as if gauging her welcome. “Am I late?” she asked, shooting a shuttered glance at Morgan.

He made a pretense of looking at his pocket watch and shook his head. “Right on time, actually, honey,” he murmured, favoring her with a slow smile.

She walked toward the stage and looked up at May. “I appreciate you getting up so early for this. Morgan said we’d be going shopping after breakfast.”

“Sure are,” May told her. “You and I are gonna get all decked out with new outfits, sweetie.” She looked down at Lily’s feet. “And new shoes, too.”

Charlie’s fingers ended their wandering and he nodded at May. “Let’s get goin’,” he told her. “Breakfast is waiting.”

The shops were filled with gowns and all the underpinnings that went with them. The shoemaker found just the right shoes to match Lily’s dress. With a brusque nod, Morgan announced his approval and followed the women from the cobbler’s shop, boxes in hand.

“Do you think we’ve pushed him far enough?” May asked in an undertone, bending to speak in Lily’s ear.

“I heard that,” Morgan told her dryly. “If we don’t get back to the boat right soon, neither one of you will have a job, and I’ll have lost all my belongings. I don’t think Ham will wait much longer for us.”

The thought of escaping the steamboat was like a beacon before her, but Lily could not imagine Morgan’s anger should she run from him. He’d be obliged to chase her down. And find her he would, of that there was no doubt. He’d paid for her time, and like it or not, she was committed to fulfilling her part of the bargain. With a sigh, she took his right arm, even as May clung to his left elbow, heading back to the dock.

Ham stood at the top of the gangplank, grinning through the smoke of his cigar as they approached. “Well, well. Don’t you look like a fancy man, with one lady on each arm, Morgan. Thought maybe the three of you had decided to head for the hills.”

“You knew better,” Morgan said, leading the women aboard with care, one at a time, lest they lose their footing on the sloping boards. He handed each her parcels. “Here you go, ladies.” With a tip of his hat, he watched them head for their cabins and turned back to Ham.

“You ready to leave?”

Ham nodded. “Just waiting for you and your lady friends to show up.” He leaned an elbow on the ship’s railing. “You win much at the poker tables on this trip downriver, Morgan?”

Morgan shrugged. “No more than usual. Why?”

“Just wondered if you’re makin’ a living at it. Playing poker is a pretty chancy way to earn your way in life, as far as I can see.”

“I make enough to get along,” Morgan told him, his voice soft but containing a thread of steel that forbade any further discussion.

Ham shot him a speculative look. “I’ve heard that you’re working for someone else.”

“And where did you hear that?” His senses alert, Morgan slid one hand into his pocket and tilted his hat a bit with the other. “You been checking up on me, Ham?”

A quick shake of his head denoted Ham’s denial of such a thing. “Just something that’s been whispered about over the past day or so. Thought you might like to hear the rumor.”

“Well, you can squelch it right now,” Morgan told him as he strolled away. “I work on my own. I don’t answer to anyone but Gage Morgan.”

And wasn’t that the biggest lie he’d ever told with a straight face.

Chapter Four

T he lines were being readied to cast off from the dock as Morgan neared the front of the boat and he gripped the rail tightly, his mind already on the coming evening. A vision of dark curls and even darker eyes swam in his mind and he shook it off. His eyelids flickered, his gaze narrowed, and there before him hung a drawing of the very woman he’d so determinedly cast from his thoughts.

The post was tall, its surface bearing several printed notices, one of them for a stage show in town, another for a man wanted for bank robbery. The third bore a very well-done likeness of Lily Devereaux, and above it were emblazoned the words: Wanted for Attempted Murder and Robbery.

Morgan blinked, sure that for that fraction of a moment his eyes were playing tricks on him. And then dead certain that they were not as he focused again on the poster. Someone who thought Lily’s name was Yvonne Devereaux had offered a five-thousand-dollar reward for her capture.

With one swift movement Morgan was atop the railing, and from there leaped to stand on the dock. He looked up at the poster and snatched it from the nails holding it in place. With a glance toward the gangplank, where Ham was no longer in sight, he folded the paper in quarters and stuck it in his pocket. Then, in a casual manner, he sauntered to where the lines were being cast ashore.

“Hold on a second there,” he called in a jovial tone. And as the accommodating deckhand watched, Morgan crossed the narrow stretch of water to stand on the deck. Offering the obliging fellow a small salute with his index finger, he strolled away, toward his cabin.

The woman is a fraud. All the way around. She’s lied to me.

His fist raised to pound on the door of his cabin, and then as it would have met the wood, he dropped it to his side. “It’s my damn cabin,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have to knock on my own door.”

The handle turned readily and he stood on the threshold. Before him Lily watched, wide-eyed, her hands holding up the shoes he’d bought with his hard-earned money. Probably gloating over making a fool of him.

He crossed the threshold and closed the door, leaning against it as he lifted one hand to remove his hat. The shoes were lowered, a pair held by either hand until they dangled at her sides, and Lily’s eyes closed tightly, then reopened, their surface glossy.

“Going to try tears on me?” Morgan asked softly. “It won’t work, Lily.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her words so quiet they might have been whispered.

He lifted a brow and tossed his hat toward the bed. She jumped as it sailed past her to land on the mattress, and he noted the visible shiver that traveled her length.

“Don’t you?” He reached in his pocket for the folded poster and held it toward her. “Don’t lie to me, Lily. Are you sure you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

She shook her head, and the shoes dropped to the floor. The sound was sharp in the silence, and she looked down to where they lay, then bent to retrieve them.

“Leave them,” Morgan said sharply, and watched as she obeyed, straightening again to stand quietly as he approached. His hand was steady as he lifted it to brush her cheek, and he smiled as she flinched from his touch.

“Are you afraid of me now?” he asked. The poster drew her eyes like a magnet and her mouth trembled as she spoke.

“What is it? What have you done?”

“What have I done?” he asked. “I think the question might be what have you done?”

Her chin lifted and two tears left shiny streaks down the length of her cheeks. “All right, what have I done?” she asked.

“Lied to me,” he said, almost tonelessly. “You lied to me, Lily.”

She shook her head. “No. I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything.”

“Everything? All you told me was a pack of lies, Miss Devereaux. Apparently beginning with your name—” he made a show of opening the poster and reading it aloud “—Yvonne Devereaux, it says here.” His eyes lifted to meet her gaze. “And ending with your attempted murder of someone in New York.”

“It wasn’t an attempted murder,” she whispered. “I killed him.”

He looked back at the poster. “Not according to this. You robbed him and tried real hard to put him six feet under, but the man is alive, lady. And he’s after your hide.”

“He’s dead,” she wailed, and then covered her mouth with one hand as if she could somehow stifle the words that resounded between them.

Morgan snatched at her hand, his fingers gripping her wrist as he drew her up to her tiptoes and pulled her against himself. “Shut up. Just shut the hell up, and for once in your life, tell the truth.”