destroy her. She couldn't take that chance. Yet, thinking about life
without him made her miserable, and she didn't know what to do to stop
the ache. She hated being afraid, and loving Cole terrified her
because it meant she would have to trust him.
Why, oh, why, hadn't she considered all the ramifications before she
attacked the man? Because, she wanted to know what it felt like to be
loved. Dear God, what had she done?
"Jessie, we did it all wrong." She stared at his back, her heart
already shattering, while she waited for him to tell her he had finally
come to his senses.
He didn't turn around as he explained, but took the lead down the last
slope that led into the town where they would catch the train.
"We had our wedding night before our wedding. We just did it
backwards, that's all. If there's time, we'll fix that when we get to
town."
"How do you plan to do that? " "Find a preacher." Her mouth dropped
open. "I'm not marrying you."
"I'm not asking."
"Good, because I . . . " "I'm telling you we're getting married. You
made that decision when you gave yourself to me last night." He let
her hear the anger in his voice, but he was careful not to let her know
how worried he was. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought
he was scared. Loving her shook him to the core, and he didn't know
how to make her understand that his love was real . . . and forever.
"Caleb . . . " "I'll be a good father."
"I won't subject him to heartache. He'll become attached to you, and
then . . . " She didn't go on because of the scathing look he shot her
over his shoulder.
"There's something I think you'd better know about me."
"What's that?
" she asked.
"I always win." ţthe one hundred twenty-three passengers on the train
headed south, only one person happened to be looking out the window at
the precise second that Marshal Cooper was thrown over the trestle into
the water, but one passenger was quite enough. Mildred Sparrow, a spry
woman of advanced years and a sedentary disposition, was seated on a
hard wooden bench in the rear car with her husband, George, at her
side. He was slumped against her, sound asleep, and was using her
shoulder as a pillow.
Mildred was quietly admiring the lovely view one second and screaming
like a madwoman the next. She was so distraught she could barely tell
her husband what she had just witnessed. George didn't believe her.
Insisting she'd dozed off and imagined that a man was hurled to his
death, he opened the window and stuck his head out to have a look
himself.
He didn't see anything. Mildred wouldn't be hushed, though. She
caused quite a scene, and the only way the porter could get her to stop
screaming was to promise to stop the train and investigate. He too
believed that Mildred had let her imagination run away with her.