Chapter 11

M erritt stood in the preacher's parlor, wearing her new dress.

In the silence, all she could hear was her own breath and the ticking of a clock on the mantel.

Her eyes flicked to the clock once more, and she forced them away, but not before she saw the time had ticked another minute from the day.

"I'm sure your young man will be along shortly," Mrs. Carson said. She stood up from the settee where she'd perched moments ago. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you."

Mrs. Carson bustled into the kitchen, leaving Merritt alone in the parlor.

Jack was late.

Merritt's stomach twisted and she pressed her palm there to try and steady herself.

He wasn't that late. Only a few minutes.

The preacher himself had waited with her and Mrs. Carson in the parlor until five after and then excused himself to his office. Merritt could hear him muttering to himself and the sound of pages turning. Service would be starting soon, the church building a half block away.

Where was Jack?

She remembered the way Jack had looked at her when he'd seen her in this dress. Like it was Christmas morning and he'd just received everything he wanted.

Like she was beautiful.

But where was he?

Another memory surfaced, this one of his stillness last night when she'd moved to kiss him goodbye in the darkness outside his house. They'd only had a scarce few moments together after she'd been knocked off the boardwalk, and she'd been shaken and a little discombobulated, reassured by his arm around her shoulders and his strength at her side.

Had he been shaken too?

I need to tell you ? —

He'd been trying to tell her something, while she'd been excitedly prattling on about the auction and donations. And then her friends had been waiting for her.

Perhaps she should've invited him inside.

Nerves slithered through her stomach like a knot of snakes. What had Jack wanted to tell her?

Where was he?

A shadow passed by the sunshine-filled window and her heart leaped.

A knock sounded at the door, and she worked to steady her breathing. That was Jack. He was late, but he was here.

The preacher's wife came in from the kitchen and shot a harried smile at Merritt, then opened the door to reveal the person on the other side.

Danna.

Merritt felt a rush of trepidation as her heart pounded. Danna would only have come if something was wrong.

"Where's Jack? What's happened?" Merritt hated the way her voice wavered.

Danna scanned the room the way Merritt had seen her do before, as if she were on the lookout for danger. "He's not here?"

Merritt shook her head.

Danna nodded to Mrs. Carson. "Would you give us a minute?"

The older woman sent a sympathetic glance to Merritt. "Of course." The woman joined her husband in his office.

Danna strode into the room and motioned to the settee where the preacher's wife had previously sat. "Why don't you sit down."

"I don't want to." But that quaver remained in her voice, and Merritt took the two steps that put her in front of the settee and sat down on it.

Danna took the chair across. She looked grim.

"Just tell me. Is Jack all right? Is he injured?"

"How much do you know about Jack?" Danna asked.

What did that have to do with Jack's whereabouts? Her hands fluttered in her lap. "What he wrote me in his letters." She had a flash of Jack's expression as a reflection in the kitchen window when he'd told her about losing his brother. "And he's told me a little more."

"You heard the name Jack Easton?"

Jack.

But she didn't know the surname Easton.

Merritt shook her head stiffly. "Who-who is that?"

If anything, the grim frown on Danna's face intensified. "Jack Easton is a gambler. He's somewhat famous in these parts."

From the way Danna glanced to the side, Merritt knew there was more she wasn't saying.

"Tell me."

"There's been a man asking for Jack Easton around town. Rumor is, he's a hired gun. Is it possible he's looking for your Jack?"

Cold seeped along the edges of Merritt's extremities, shivered down her spine. She wiped her cheek, surprised to find a stray tear there. She wasn't crying, was she?

"No—no. Jack is a businessman ."

There was movement from the other room, and Danna sat back in her chair when the preacher walked into the parlor, followed by his wife.

"Miss Harding, I'm sorry but I have to go now. If your young man arrives, you can wait here. There'll be time for the ceremony after service." Mr. and Mrs. Carson slipped out the door, looking uncomfortable.

Merritt took a shaky breath. She felt battered from all sides. Jack was supposed to be here. Why hadn't he come? And she couldn't make sense of what Danna was saying.

And now the time for her wedding to Jack had come and gone.

She wasn't getting married this morning.

The reality blasted into her like a burst from the fire she'd helped fight days ago.

Jack wasn't coming.

There'd be no ceremony, no sacred moments standing face-to-face with Jack while they recited their vows.

No quiet nights spent in conversation over the supper table.

No future children.

Her dreams were crumbling around her.

And Jack hadn't said a word.

Or had he?

Was this what he'd been trying to tell her last night, in the rush of activity? That he couldn't marry her?

She blinked Danna into focus when her friend leaned forward in the chair with her elbows on her knees. "Is there any chance that your Jack, your John, is the same man as Jack Easton?"

More tears seeped down Merritt's face, and she reached into her pocket for a handkerchief—but then remembered she hadn't brought one. She'd thought this morning would be a time of joy.

Danna looked slightly panicked in the face of Merritt's tears and scrambled in her own pockets until she found a handkerchief. She pushed it into Merritt's hands.

Merritt wiped her face, tried to focus on Danna's question, though she felt unsettled from her head to her toes. "How could John be Jack? Are you saying that this gambler wrote me letters, posing as a businessman? Why?"

Danna's expression was as puzzled as Merritt felt. "I was hoping he'd be here, that he could answer those questions for me." Then her expression darkened. "There's more." She sighed. "There's no easy way to tell you this, but there appears to have been a break-in at the dance hall last night."

The dance hall? No.

Danna continued, though Merritt was shaking her head. "The tables and chairs weren't touched, but someone took a knife to your backdrops."

The pageant backdrops. "H-how bad? Maybe we can repair them?—"

Now Danna was the one shaking her head. "It's bad. Beyond repair. As if someone was…taking revenge."

Merritt thought of what Jack had said about Mr. Polk working with Billy Burns. Surely Mr. Polk wouldn't have done something like this. But who?—

She buried her face in her hands. None of it made sense, and she felt raw all over, like she'd been scrubbed with harsh lye soap over every inch of her body.

There was a knock on the door, and it opened before either she or Danna could move.

Her heart leaped as she registered Jack standing there. He'd come!

But her eyes took in all the details. He had a bruise on one cheek, and there was a rip in his shirt beneath his coat.

It was his expression that arrested her, had her sticking to her seat when her heart told her to go to him.

He looked beaten. Resigned, somehow.

This wasn't a groom anticipating his wedding ceremony.

His gaze skittered away from Merritt, as if it was easier to look at Danna. "I don't know how much you've figured out, but I'm not John Crosby."

* * *

Jack couldn't bear to look at Merritt. She was wearing that dress, but her face was tearstained, her eyes wide with hurt.

He could barely hold the marshal's gaze. It'd felt almost impossible for him to make his feet carry him here this morning.

There was a part of him that had hoped he'd find Merritt already gone. Given up on him.

But lady luck wasn't in his corner on this one.

He edged into the room, holding his hat at his side. Closed the door, though he wanted to run out of it.

"I am Jack Easton," he said. "Not John Crosby."

He'd said the same to two members of the school board just this morning after he'd convinced them to meet with him. He'd spent over an hour with them, explaining what he'd heard and how Merritt's job had been threatened. What part he'd played and why.

The preacher had spent all week trying to convince Jack that there was a God up there listening. Jack still didn't know whether he believed it, but he'd sent up a prayer, such as it was, that what he'd said would make a difference. For her.

Merritt loved those kids. Loved her job. He couldn't be a part of taking that away from her.

Danna stood from her chair, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "I'll go?—"

"You should stay," he interrupted. "Part of what I've got to say involves the marshal's office." And he knew she and Merritt were close. Merritt would want a friend, surely.

"Did you—did you write me those letters, pretending to be John?" Merritt stood up too, and he saw the tremble in her hands before she clenched them at her sides.

"No." He was ashamed to admit what he'd done, now that he knew her, knew what she'd think about his omissions. "When I got off the train, I was—someone was following me. You assumed I was John, and I thought I could pretend for a couple of hours and leave town."

His gaze had been drawn to her, and he saw the realization dawning in her eyes. She hadn't wanted to believe he wasn't John, and it was hitting her hard.

She sat back down, turning her face to look at the wall.

He felt like he'd been slugged by Morris all over again.

"What happened to the real John?" Danna demanded. There was the marshal in her voice, wondering if Jack had caused trouble. An echo of Mrs. Farr's voice played in his mind. What'd you do now? But he shoved down the roiling in his stomach to answer.

"I was riding in the same train car with him. Overheard him conversing with another passenger. He had cold feet." There was no easy way to say it, but he saw Merritt flinch, even though her face was turned.

"You could probably send a wire," he told Danna. "Verify that he's alive and well."

Surreptitiously, Merritt dabbed her face with a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," he said. The words felt empty. Not enough. "Deceiving you was wrong, and—I have no excuse."

None except that he'd fallen for her. That painful realization was what had propelled him off the train platform last night, sent him to see the school board members this morning to try and right things for her.

She mattered in a way nothing had for a long time.

He turned the hat in his hands and shifted his feet. He'd come clean, finally. Told her the truth about who he really was.

But he didn't feel any relief.

So maybe it was time to go.

She twisted on the settee until she was facing him, and now her eyes were blazing. "Why'd you stay?" she demanded, her voice like ice. "You'd planned to leave that first night. Why didn't you?"

He felt the same visceral tug in his gut that he had that night when she'd flung herself into his arms and he'd held her.

It was a pull to her . To the one woman he'd let get close, who had kept him in Calvin.

But looking at her tear-matted lashes and the streaks of red in her cheeks, the fist around her handkerchief and the clear anger shining in her eyes, he couldn't say that.

"I thought I could help," he said instead. "I didn't want you to lose your school, your job. I wanted—" He shrugged helplessly. He didn't know what he'd wanted.

Not to hurt her.

If there was any way to take away the hurt he knew he'd caused, he would take it. "Every moment spent with you is one I'll treasure."

She turned her face at his words, as if she couldn't bear to look at him.

He felt the pulse of pain, more than that blow of Morris's to his liver. This was it.

"Where'd you get that bruise?" Danna asked.

His gaze flicked to her. He'd almost forgotten she was present.

"A hired gun by the name of Morris." It was easier to focus on the marshal than Merritt when he felt like he was burning up inside. "He's been looking for me. Claims I cheated at cards."

"Did you?"

He didn't blink. "I don't cheat. Don't have to." He went on. "Morris demanded a sum of money that I won in a card game. I don't have it anymore." He tipped his head toward Merritt. "He'd seen us together and made some threats. He's the one who slashed the backdrops."

Merritt flinched but didn't seem surprised. So, she knew.

That was enough, wasn't it? He'd told Merritt the truth. Warned Danna of the threats.

"I'm leaving on the next train."

There was an awkward pause. He didn't know what he'd hoped she would say. Something. Anything.

But she kept her face turned away, and she didn't owe him one red cent.

He took a few steps forward, a prickling awareness of the marshal watching his every move slithering up the back of his neck. Did she see the slight limp from where Burns had landed that lucky punch? Every muscle felt tight and sore.

Jack placed the hat on the settee within arm's reach of Merritt. "I can't keep this. It wouldn't be right. I'm—I'm sorry for everything."

He would never forget those moments of breathless wonder when she'd given him the gift—but it had never been meant for him. Not Jack. She'd wanted John this entire time.

He strode out of the parlor and closed the door behind him.

He'd hesitated for a moment too long, because he heard the sound of her muffled sob from inside.

He'd made Merritt cry.

He rested one hand against the doorframe, leaning his face into his bent arm. The movement made every sore muscle in his abdomen pull.

There was a part of him grateful for the pain. He deserved it, didn't he? For years, he'd prided himself on fixing problems. Saving the miners' widows from having their homes foreclosed on. Providing funds for an orphanage.

Jack had believed that righting wrongs would fix what was wrong with him.

But this time, his motives hadn't been pure.

He'd let his heart get involved. It'd only taken one conversation over supper that first night for him to see how special Merritt was.

He'd let himself believe there was a chance for him to be with Merritt.

He knew better.

The odds of one ace being drawn after another were longer than a Texas prairie.

Jack's chances of someone like Merritt falling in love with him were even longer than that.

He'd acted liked one of the saps who shouldn't play cards, hoping for the one-in-a-million chance to win.

Jack forced himself to move away from the door, from the sound of her quiet crying. He was getting on that train. He'd told the school board members he was leaving town. Stopped in at the mercantile and the grocer and spread the word there. Tried to ignore the shock and whispers he'd left behind him.

He couldn't let himself care. The important thing was ensuring Merritt's safety. If Morris came looking for Jack, surely someone would tell the hired gun that Jack was gone.

Jack looked over his shoulder at the preacher's tidy home. For a moment, he wished things had been different. That he'd walked into town and met Merritt under different circumstances.

But the part of him that couldn't lie to himself knew it wouldn't have made any difference.

She never would've chosen him. Jack Easton. Gambler. Loner. Orphan.

She deserved someone better.

And he wasn't it.