for a woman. Can't recollect you ever mentioning her or the fact that you was married."
"That's because I haven't mentioned her. Truth is, Happy, tonight's the first time I've seen my wife in four years."
That made an impression on Happy. He shook his head from side to side. "Well, of all the dag-burned luck. No wonder she didn't recognize you when she clamped eyes on you in first class. Four years. That's a damn long time."
Ethan nodded. "I offered to take the reporter out just to get out of her way. I thought I was safe when she fainted. When she saw me outside without the kerchief I knew I couldn't take any chances. Not after killing the reporter."
"Who was he to her?" Happy asked. "Obie said she tried to tell you both something about him before you punched her."
Ethan searched for something to say.
"Drew Beaumont was my fiancé," Michael interjected. In her ear she felt rather than heard Ethan's low hum of disapproval. "When one hasn't heard from one's husband in four years it's not unnatural to suppose he's dead."
"Or hope that he is," Ethan said, cutting her off before she created a story at odds with what he had already told the others. "I walked out on her, Happy. There's no love lost on her side."
"Hard to believe," Happy said. "You two cuddled there like nip and tuck."
"I haven't been given any choice," Michael said coldly.
"That so?" Happy grinned, showing a line of straight but tobacco-stained teeth. "You could ride with me for a while, Miz Stone."
Before Michael could form a proper protest or retract her statement, Ethan agreed to the plan. "She'll be more comfortable with you anyway, Happy. More room on the saddle."
The two men drew their horses close and Michael was summarily transferred from Ethan's mount to Happy's.
"Mind your manners," Ethan said. The words were not as significant as the look he shot her. Michael felt the blue-gray eyes bore right through her. Without another glance in her direction he urged his horse ahead and was out of earshot in a matter of seconds.
"Well," Happy drawled. "This is cozy."
Michael bit her lower lip. "Mm, yes. Cozy is the word." Ethan had done it to punish her. She felt certain he had known she didn't want to go with Happy. He had to have felt her reluctance to be passed around like so much baggage. "How long have you known my husband, Happy? I heard Ethan correctly, didn't I? Your name's Happy."
"It's not my disposition," he said. "Picked up the name when I was greenhorn cowhand. Cut myself in the face with a bullwhip. Can't see the scar much now, what with the stubble and all, so there's no point in lookin'. Doc said I severed a nerve. Cut it clean in two, he said. Folks were like to point out then that I always looked like I was smilin'. Called me Happy. Just seemed to stick. But like I said, Miz Stone, it's not my disposition."
"I'll try to remember that."
"See that you do." Happy took a pouch of tobacco out of his coat pocket, pinched some off with his thumb and forefinger and packed it between his lower lip and gum. "Known your husband nigh on five months now. That's how long he's been ridin' with us. Newest man. You'll understand if that makes me a tad skeptical of what he says or does."
Michael could only summon a murmur. She wondered how long she could stay in the saddle. Even propped against Happy she was finding it difficult to stay upright. Her fingers ached with cold again and Happy hadn't made the same offer to warm them that Ethan had.
"Now Ben up ahead," Happy went on. "Him and me go way back. He's my half-brother. Same mother, different gamblers. He's a Simpson. I'm a McAllister. Obie Long's been with the gang 'bout two years now. Good kid. Not much fer talkin', especially 'round the ladies, but it don't seem to bother them none. Still waters and all that."
Looking ahead on the trail, Michael was able to determine which of the men was Happy's brother. Obie, she knew, was the one who had followed her when she ran out of the train to find
"That's because I haven't mentioned her. Truth is, Happy, tonight's the first time I've seen my wife in four years."
That made an impression on Happy. He shook his head from side to side. "Well, of all the dag-burned luck. No wonder she didn't recognize you when she clamped eyes on you in first class. Four years. That's a damn long time."
Ethan nodded. "I offered to take the reporter out just to get out of her way. I thought I was safe when she fainted. When she saw me outside without the kerchief I knew I couldn't take any chances. Not after killing the reporter."
"Who was he to her?" Happy asked. "Obie said she tried to tell you both something about him before you punched her."
Ethan searched for something to say.
"Drew Beaumont was my fiancé," Michael interjected. In her ear she felt rather than heard Ethan's low hum of disapproval. "When one hasn't heard from one's husband in four years it's not unnatural to suppose he's dead."
"Or hope that he is," Ethan said, cutting her off before she created a story at odds with what he had already told the others. "I walked out on her, Happy. There's no love lost on her side."
"Hard to believe," Happy said. "You two cuddled there like nip and tuck."
"I haven't been given any choice," Michael said coldly.
"That so?" Happy grinned, showing a line of straight but tobacco-stained teeth. "You could ride with me for a while, Miz Stone."
Before Michael could form a proper protest or retract her statement, Ethan agreed to the plan. "She'll be more comfortable with you anyway, Happy. More room on the saddle."
The two men drew their horses close and Michael was summarily transferred from Ethan's mount to Happy's.
"Mind your manners," Ethan said. The words were not as significant as the look he shot her. Michael felt the blue-gray eyes bore right through her. Without another glance in her direction he urged his horse ahead and was out of earshot in a matter of seconds.
"Well," Happy drawled. "This is cozy."
Michael bit her lower lip. "Mm, yes. Cozy is the word." Ethan had done it to punish her. She felt certain he had known she didn't want to go with Happy. He had to have felt her reluctance to be passed around like so much baggage. "How long have you known my husband, Happy? I heard Ethan correctly, didn't I? Your name's Happy."
"It's not my disposition," he said. "Picked up the name when I was greenhorn cowhand. Cut myself in the face with a bullwhip. Can't see the scar much now, what with the stubble and all, so there's no point in lookin'. Doc said I severed a nerve. Cut it clean in two, he said. Folks were like to point out then that I always looked like I was smilin'. Called me Happy. Just seemed to stick. But like I said, Miz Stone, it's not my disposition."
"I'll try to remember that."
"See that you do." Happy took a pouch of tobacco out of his coat pocket, pinched some off with his thumb and forefinger and packed it between his lower lip and gum. "Known your husband nigh on five months now. That's how long he's been ridin' with us. Newest man. You'll understand if that makes me a tad skeptical of what he says or does."
Michael could only summon a murmur. She wondered how long she could stay in the saddle. Even propped against Happy she was finding it difficult to stay upright. Her fingers ached with cold again and Happy hadn't made the same offer to warm them that Ethan had.
"Now Ben up ahead," Happy went on. "Him and me go way back. He's my half-brother. Same mother, different gamblers. He's a Simpson. I'm a McAllister. Obie Long's been with the gang 'bout two years now. Good kid. Not much fer talkin', especially 'round the ladies, but it don't seem to bother them none. Still waters and all that."
Looking ahead on the trail, Michael was able to determine which of the men was Happy's brother. Obie, she knew, was the one who had followed her when she ran out of the train to find
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