Brighter than Gold (Western Rebels Book 1) (32 page)

Fearlessly she met his gaze. “It’s Poppy.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Poppy!” Katie reached into the carpetbag she’d brought on board and lifted out the calico kitten. “You gave her to me, remember? Surely you didn’t imagine that I would leave her behind?”

Jack stared, astonished, at the scrappy little kitten, then began to laugh. “To tell you the truth, I’d forgotten all about that kitten, but I can assure you that if I had remembered, I certainly would not have expected you, of all people, to abandon her.”

Braced for an argument, Katie felt a trifle deflated. “Well—
good!
” She sat back against the worn upholstered seat and concentrated on soothing Poppy.

Jack watched, smiling as he thought of Harriet, his grandfather’s enormous old gray cat, who took for granted her autocratic position in the Wyatt household. No one, it seemed, would be spared the changes that Katie’s arrival would cause, and Jack was beginning to look forward to watching the drama unfold.

Chapter 22

Sacramento, California

October 29-31, 1864

From the moment of her departure from Columbia, Katie had little opportunity to dwell upon the past. She hadn’t traveled to Sacramento for years, and the winding, bumpy journey was fascinating in itself. The weather continued to be chilly, bleak, and damp, but the landscape was inexpressibly lovely to her fresh eyes. As they descended toward California’s central valley, the hills softened and the pine trees began to disappear. The bleached summer grass, not yet returned to green lushness by the rains of autumn, served as a backdrop for dramatic scrub oak trees. Their twisted branches were clotted with mistletoe or blanketed in golden-yellow wild grape. Against the dark background of the oak, scattered ailanthus trees sprang out in pale lemon, or an occasional poplar blazed orange fire. Where the dry creekbeds marked canyon bottoms, there were feathery willows, and the entire underbrush was a tangle of low-growing wild peach, dense manzanita, and red-berried toyon.

And the views changed constantly. In Calaveras County, the bare hilltops were littered with chunks of dark porous rock. Ages ago a volcano had spouted here, and the broken lava mixed with fragments of slate to make it hard going for the stagecoach.

Jack’s horse was ridden partway by an extra stage driver. When more passengers joined them, however, Jack gave up his seat and transferred to Byron’s back. It left little opportunity for communication between Katie and her future husband, but she found that she didn’t mind. His nearness only served to remind her of the chance she was taking, leaving behind a familiar, emotionally safe world and heading toward a future filled with unknowns—as someone’s
wife.
Every time Katie glanced out the stagecoach window at Jack, ruggedly graceful astride Byron, countless conflicting emotions rushed over her as she thought of sharing the rest of her life with him. Warm, excited, and panicky, she would turn to one of the other passengers and strike up a diverting conversation or hold the purring Poppy nearer for reassurance.

When they reached Sacramento the next day, Katie was dusty and tired but too excited to think of sleep. With an unsettling mixture of anticipation and fear, she allowed Jack to help her down from the stagecoach. The office for the California Stage Company was located in the Orleans Hotel, where, she learned, they would spend their wedding night.

The Orleans was probably the grandest hotel in Sacramento. Originally it had been shipped, precut, around Cape Horn from New Orleans, then assembled piece by piece on Second Street. After it had burned in the fire of 1852, the Orleans was immediately rebuilt in brick and now boasted a reading room, billiard room, saloon, and the stage office. Upstairs the accommodations ranged from tastefully modest rooms to plush, spacious suites.

Katie moved through the next few hours in a daze. Jack took a suite for them, comprised of a parlor, bathroom, and bedchamber, all decorated in shades of forest green and ivory. Then he went off to make arrangements for their wedding while Katie took a long, hot bath and washed her hair with French soap that smelled of damask rose. Afterward she put on a soft cotton chemise and dried her hair in the sunlight that streamed through the bedroom windows. Their suite overlooked Sacramento’s bustling, muddy streets, while the wide Sacramento River wound behind, barely a quarter-mile in the distance.

Slipping into a wrapper, Katie peeked around the parted draperies and wondered at all the people who walked and rode along the thoroughfare below. Some of them looked like the rough mountain men and miners who frequented her saloon in Columbia, but many more appeared to be prosperous, civilized members of an upper class. Friendly merchants exchanged greetings with passersby, while children walked with their mothers or played together on the wooden sidewalks. There were establishments of every description: general stores, a French importer, provision stores, a daguerrotype gallery, bakeries, a millinery shop, banks, and hotels as far as she could see. A block behind the Orleans was the waterfront, crowded with vessels, while the river was dotted with fishing boats. Sacramento exuded an energy that was irresistible, and Katie found herself looking forward more than ever to discovering the delights of San Francisco.

A knock at the door roused her from her daydreams. Expecting Jack, she was surprised to find a meek-looking maid standing in the hallway.

“Mr. Adams asks that you meet him downstairs at five o’clock.”

“What time is it now?” Katie asked.

“It’s nearly four,” the girl replied. “There’s a clock on the table in the parlor.”

“Oh. Thank you. Could you come back in half an hour to help me fasten my gown?” Katie asked.

“I’d be happy to, ma’am!”

Katie was glad of the brief respite. It allowed her to lie down for a bit, then dress leisurely. She wondered if Jack intended to be married without a bath and shave, dressed in the flannel shirt and dungarees he had been wearing when they arrived. Would he then come to their marriage bed with the dust of the road on him? Katie decided not to think about it. Instead, she thought of the vices Jack did
not
have. Unlike nearly every man she knew, he did not drink liquor, smoke cigars, or chew tobacco. During the years spent in the saloon, Katie had developed a powerful aversion to the smelly brown liquid filling the spittoons. A little dust on Jack’s body would be a blessing compared to tobacco juice in his mouth!

At ten minutes before five o’clock, the maid had departed again, and Katie stood surveying herself before the full-length cheval mirror in the bedroom. She wore the gown from Abby and Gideon’s wedding because it was the best one she owned. Perhaps it was too fancy for the wedding Jack had in mind, but stubbornly, Katie didn’t care. Even though they wouldn’t be married in a church, with all their friends present, she still wanted to look as much like a bride as possible.

It took her a few minutes to pin her ebony hair into a smooth, loose chignon at the base of her neck. Her deep blue eyes were brilliant with excitement, her cheeks were slightly flushed, and she had applied some rose-tinted salve to lips. The gown fit beautifully, showing off her white shoulders and nipping in at her waist. As her only adornment, Katie pinned her mother’s cameo between her breasts. She wished she had flowers and suddenly found herself remembering her birthday, and the bouquet of lilies and larkspur that her father had given her. She had met Jack that day. How long ago it seemed! For a moment, she closed her eyes and pictured both her parents in her mind, together, watching over her and smiling. This was her wedding day, and she knew they were with her in spirit, praying for her happiness.

Poppy was curled in the corner of a green velvet settee in the parlor, purring contentedly after her lunch of fresh salmon. Katie paused to stroke the kitten, then rustled into the hall and closed the door. The walk downstairs seemed endless. Her palms were damp, and she felt slightly nauseous. Would Jack laugh when he saw that she had dressed so elaborately? What if he made her go back upstairs and change into a dress that better matched his own attire?

Then she stepped into the ornate lobby and saw Jack stand and come forward to meet her. Clad in a perfectly tailored midnight-blue morning coat over a crisp white shirt, simple wrapped cravat, double-breasted waistcoat, and black trousers, he was indescribably handsome. His hair had been trimmed, he was freshly shaven, and his clean, tanned face looked appealingly healthy against the white of his collar.

Although overwhelmed at the sight of him, Katie was determined not to show more emotion than he did. Taking her cue from his friendly but polite smile, she held out her hand and said, “How did you manage this miraculous transformation?”

“Surely you didn’t expect me to attend my own wedding in the guise of a grimy frontiersman?” He laughed softly. “Actually I have friends here in Sacramento, and in the past I have kept some clothes at their house against the occasional concert or play. Today, I visited Stephen and Amanda to ask them to act as witnesses for our wedding—and while I was there, I bathed, shaved, and put on more suitable clothing. I thought you might appreciate the time alone.”

During this speech, Katie sensed a preoccupation in Jack as he steered her through the lobby of the Orleans Hotel and out onto Second Street. Now she could feel the tension emanating from his strong body, which fueled her own anxiety. “Jack, is something bothering you? Have you changed your mind? If so, you may certainly tell me, and I can assure you that I will understand. I mean—”

Looking down, he gently placed a silencing finger over her mouth. “Hush. No, I haven’t changed my mind, but yes, I admit that something is bothering me. I thought we would walk to the church so that I could talk to you about it.”

“All right.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, turning west onto K Street and heading away from the river. Jack guided her through the muddy thoroughfare and up onto the wooden sidewalk as Katie gingerly held up her skirts. Finally he said, “Jack Adams is not my real name.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your name, when we marry, will be Wyatt. My true name is Jonathan Wyatt. Adams is my mother’s maiden name.”

“I don’t understand!”

“I became Jack Adams when I went to the foothills because the life I led there was so different from the one I have in San Francisco. I felt like a different man, and I suppose it was an escape. When I was there, I gradually
became
another man, and in time that identity seemed more real to me than the one I had as Jonathan Wyatt, in San Francisco.”

Katie was shaking her head. “It’s so confusing... but perhaps I do understand. Perhaps I’m just stunned. It simply never occurred to me...” She twisted her hands together, thinking. “It makes sense, in a way—your trips back to San Francisco and the vagueness of your answers whenever I asked about your life in the city. Looking back, you did seem torn between the two existences. What concerns me most right now, however, is—” Katie broke off, wondering how to phrase her thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Who
is
Jonathan Wyatt? Do I know the man I am about to marry?”

Jack turned and looked down at her, his sage-green eyes sober. “I can’t imagine that the man you know will change very much, but on the other hand, I hesitate to make any promises. I honestly don’t know. You’ll understand better when we arrive in San Francisco and you are able to see for yourself what your life will be like.” He started to walk again, steering Katie around the traffic outside a dry goods store. “Perhaps it would be best for you to approach this marriage from a practical standpoint, rather than dwelling on my personal qualities as a husband.”

Katie’s head was spinning. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t forgotten what we talked about when I first suggested marriage to you?”

“Don’t you mean
proposed
marriage?” Somewhere at the back of her mind an alarm was sounding, setting her nerves on edge and alerting all her senses. Jack’s tone of voice was too studied, too casual. He’d been holding her at arm’s length ever since the scene between them at the Gillis cabin, and at the time that had suited her own need to keep a safe distance from her feelings. Now, however, on the brink of their wedding, he was withdrawing even further, and it frightened her.

Jack ignored her correction. “We agreed that there were plenty of sound reasons for you to marry me, aside from the relationship between us. It might be wiser for you to focus on those for the time being, rather than on me. I feel confident that you and I will have a perfectly respectable marriage if we allow enough time to get our bearings.” He gave her what was meant to be a reassuring smile. “There’s the church.”