IX.

Married…

Dear life, what was he saying? What was he even thinking?

Dulcey ground to a stop. "Jim! Wait, no…"

"No waiting." He got her back into motion, his arm fast around her waist. "The contract is voided if you marry."

She kept tripping, her feet unable to keep up with his unusually rapid pace. "Well, I know, but the lawyer said…"

"We're going to get married and that's that," Jim told her. "He can't do anything about it then." His gaze wasn't even on her, but fixed somewhere across the street and beyond. "And then I'll get him to take my money and pay off that note and you'll be rid of him."

"But the parson isn't even in town," Dulcey protested to him. "He had to go to Nebraska to see his sister." The unnatural sense of urgency emanating from him had crossed over and was tunneling deep – and scaring her. Jim was no man of desperation yet this was clearly panic overtaking him. "There's no one – Jim, please slow down!"

"Then a judge'll do just fine," he responded, abruptly wheeling and heading the other way, taking her along with him. "We'll take the train to Fort Smith – Judge Parker can do the honors."

How could he even focus in this state? "Jim, please!" Dulcey insisted. "Please stop…will you listen!"

It wasn't the right way to do it. She loved him yes, and he probably loved her, too. But this wouldn't be a union of love. It would just be another contract, a sale of her very self from one man to another. She didn't want it that way, even if the marriage could be reversed or annulled. It wouldn't be a marriage to begin with. It would be a – a sham, and marriage could not be feign in any form. It was just too wrong.

He pulled up fast; she bumped into his chest. His arms held her there; she felt a tremor go through him. "This isn't what you want," Dulcey said to him. His attention was still astray, his gaze still distant. Her hand worked up to his cheek, held. "Jim, listen to me…"

"I won't let him take you – from me," he declared. "It's legal, it's…"

"It's not right," she corrected in an urgent tone.

"But it will work," he persisted. "He won't take my money."

That brought her up. "What money? Jim, you can't offer that for me…"

"It's a loan," he told her, finally seeking her gaze. "But he won't take it. So we're going to have to go at it some other way, try to force him to accept that contract the way it was written. We have to slow him down - this is the only way…"

"Stop," Dulcey declared. "Stop, Jim, please – I – you're thinking too fast for me. Please," she quickly continued as he opened his mouth again. "You know this isn't right. And it won't work – legally it won't. We're just going to have to – to go to Providence and-"

"I know what he did," he shot out. His grip tightened on her, his gaze smoldering. "I know what he did to you…"

He knows…

For a second Dulcey froze, but his tortured look held whole and utter compassion. Oh, dear God, she didn't want to see him like this. She did not want to be the source of this wild emotion tormenting him. She needed his steadfast guidance, his objectivity, the refuge of his emotional strength.

"I know you want to do something," she began. For his sake – and hers – she needed to steady him, find the right words, make him see reason. "I know how it's hurting you inside. The time will come. He'll make a mistake. But don't do something that you'll regret. Please, Jim – for me."

"Dulcey…" he said hoarsely, but some reluctant calm was edging back into his eyes. His palms came to cup her face; she reveled in the gentle touch, as if he was afraid that the calluses he wore would bruise her. How she loved this man!

"The lawyers can do something," she told him. "But that's the only way it will work. Danforth knows how to fight legally. All the big families back in Providence know how to do it. That's how they become so successful. I have to go back," she said evenly.

He flinched and hung his head. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "He just – he…I want to fight this for you. I want-"

"You're doing more than any man can," Dulcey declared to him. "More than I could ever begin to accept." She tried for a smile and it managed to hold. "Now, I expect you to accompany me to Providence, Mister Crown, and bring more than one pair of socks with you, all right? Because this time I think the judge will indeed notice," she teased.

A little grin found its way across his face. "I'll find a way, Dulcey," he vowed. "I'll find a way to get you out of that contract."

She sighed inwardly with relief as his gaze settled. "I know, Jim. I trust you." Her heart overflowed. He didn't ever have to say it – she knew he truly loved her. My knight in shining armor she thought. My brave hero…

"Marshal!"

Two wagons were rattling down Main Street at full speed; farmers clung to the seat and sprouted the beds. The driver sawed on the reins to bring the first whip-driven team to a stop. "Some of McQueen's boys are starting a fuss!" one of the passengers shouted. "Claim they got a right of way – going to bring a herd right through the settlement! It's gonna be a war if you don't come!"

Jim let go of her. "Francis!" he called then turned back to her. "Stay here with MacGregor. "Francis, two Winchesters – let's go!"

The young deputy appeared with two rifles. Jim grabbed one and they ran for the livery. It was only a few minutes before they were mounted and racing out toward the settlement, the wagons following, dust clouds rising in their wake and blotting out the view. Dulcey watched them disappear and felt a moment of pride. This was the man she loved, the one with the badge pinned to his vest, capable and confident, knowing exactly what to do.

"Such dedication," sneered a lazy voice behind her.

Dulcey jumped, dread instantly chilling her. "Get out of here," she threatened in a low tone as Franklin Danforth stepped up to her.

Instead he lounged his big form against the wall, eyes scanning the diminishing dust clouds. "Man of justice, man of right…a man in love. Oh, yes, he is certainly that, isn't he? I daresay he'd do anything for you, Dulcey-dear. Marry you, pay your debt – perhaps he'd even die for you." He adjusted his gaze onto her. "You've that effect on men, Dulcey, do you even realize? You make them want you – you lure them…"

"No!" she hissed back.

"Tut-tut," he warned. "Be careful not to make a scene, my dear. What will your good friends and neighbors think then, hm?"

"Leave me alone," she demanded. He would not bully her – he would not taunt her. He could not claim her – not yet.

"Temper, Dulcey," Danforth warned, smiling that empty smile of his. "And you'd better learn to curb it. I won't tolerate any displays of-"

"Stop it!"

"You're looking rather unkempt," he chided next, staring her up and then down, distaste crossing his features. "I expected better." He stepped in – his stride was long, his reach the same. His hand came up, snagged her sleeve, gripped hard. "There's no getting out of it, my dear. My feeble-minded father created this unfortunate situation, but I intend to capitalize on it. You'll obey me. Oh you will. "

"Get away!" Dulcey shoved at him; he unexpectedly released her and she stumbled, but quickly scrambled back onto the boardwalk before the Inn. "Get out of here!"

Still he leered. Now he was breathing fast, and his eyes were shining hungrily. "You've grown up Dulcey, you're a full woman now. It won't be like before…I promise you…" He leaned in closer. "You're so beautiful…"

"You were told not to come around."

MacGregor prodded Danforth with the end of his rifle. "Jim Crown's orders. You're trespassing. Be off with you before my finger slips and I break your spine."

Danforth straightened but had enough sense not to turn around. "Your Marshal has jailed one of my employees – what's the charge?" he asked coldly.

"I wouldn't know."

Danforth turned his head – MacGregor's rifle pressed harder. "I demand his release."

"I canna do that. The Marshal locked him up, and I take orders only from him."

Danforth sighed noisily but stopped short of rolling his eyes. "Such uncivilized inconveniences. All right, I've cash – how much?"

"I don't take bribes," Mac replied contemptuously coming around to the side, rifle still held steady. "Now be off with you. And don't return, by the front door or the back." He nodded to the two heavy-set men making their way across the street toward them. "And take your friends with you."

He backed off a few inches to let the other man pass. Danforth shrugged himself but kept quiet – and smiled. Then he moved away.

Mac stepped into place beside Dulcey. "Best get inside where it's safe, lass," he advised. "If he tries anything I'll be waiting for him. Och, lassie, you're shaking!"

She was indeed trembling, limbs quivering uncontrollably. Mac guided her inside where the familiar atmosphere washed over her, eased some of her shaking. Two days, she still had two days…

But the trail of dread that had threaded through her would not die. Instead it pulsed quietly, waiting, waiting…

Perhaps he'd even die for you…

A chill shook her anew as Franklin Danforth's form glided by the doors, his two ever present shadows following.