The Ballad of Emma O'Toole

Emma’s jaw dropped in shock, and she knew she wasn’t alone in her astonishment. The whole courtroom was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Even the gambler’s calm mask had given way to pure, wide-eyed surprise.

“Understand that if you fail in your duty as a husband, if you abandon your wife, or mistreat her or her child in any way, you’ll be thrown into prison to serve your sentence.” He paused, giving his words time to penetrate. “How say you, Mr. Devereaux? Are you willing?”

Without so much as a glance at Emma, Devereaux answered. “Yes, Your Honor, I’m willing.”

“And you, Miss O’Toole?”

How could this nightmare be happening? Emma struggled to find her voice. “Mr. Devereaux killed the father of my child. What if I refuse to marry him?”

“If you refuse to allow him to serve the terms of the sentence he has agreed to fulfill then, dear girl, I shall be compelled to suspend his sentence and set him free.”

Emma’s hands clenched beneath her shawl. She’d promised Billy John, promised him on her mother’s grave, that the gambler would pay for what he’d done. If Logan Devereaux went free, she had no doubt he’d leave town, and she lacked the means to follow him and keep that promise. Only as Logan’s wife could she ensure access to him to exact her vengeance. Hanging was no longer an option, but at least she could make living as much a misery for him as possible.

It seemed there was no other way to keep her vow.

“Miss O’Toole, do you plan to keep us here all day? What’s your decision?”

Emma braced her knees to keep them from giving way beneath her. “You leave me little choice,” she said. “I’ll take him.”

The judge glanced at the bailiff. “Escort the prisoner and Miss O’Toole to chambers for the ceremony. Doctor Kostandis, you may come along to serve as witness. As for the rest of you, go home. Leave these people to settle their differences in peace.”

At the final crack of the gavel, the courtroom erupted in pandemonium.

Chapter Three

The jury read the verdict out.

The judge he made his rule.

The gambler would to prison go

Or marry Emma O’Toole, oh, yes,

Or marry Emma O’Toole.

“And will you wed this man?” he asked.

She answered calm and cool.

“My lover’s lying in his grave,

So I must,” said Emma O’Toole, oh, yes,

“I must,” said Emma O’Toole.

Logan and Emma were married in a dreary little room across the hall from the Coalville jail. Hands clenched and eyes lowered, the bride muttered her vows—to love, honor and obey, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. Not that she meant a blessed word of it, Logan reminded himself. He knew for a certainty that what Emma really had in mind was to make his life a living hell. Why else would she have agreed to marry him, instead of setting him free?

He intended to treat her decently; that was the least he owed her, even without the threat of jail as punishment for mistreating her. But she wasn’t going to make it easy. He’d bet good money that, if she had her way, Emma would soon have him wishing he’d chosen prison.

And if he left her, or if he lost his temper even once, that could be exactly where he’d end up.

Standing beside her, Logan stole a glance at her downcast profile. Even with her charmless dress and severe hairstyle, his bride was stunningly beautiful. Her skin was pearlescent, her eyes the color of sea glass. As for her hair…He imagined loosening that tight golden knot and letting it slip through his hands to fall over her naked shoulders…

But that kind of thinking could drive a man crazy. Emma might be his wife, but he could hardly expect her to tumble into bed with him. Hellfire, he had no idea what to expect from her, except that she’d do everything in her power to make him miserable, just as she’d promised.

“The ring?” The judge shot Logan a quizzical glance before he remembered and corrected himself. “Never mind, I’m assuming you’ll get her one.”

“Here.” Doc Kostandis, who’d taken a nearby seat, stood slowly as he twisted something off his little finger. He pressed a thin gold band into Logan’s palm. “Use this. It was my wife’s.”

Emma stared down at the delicate ring. “Oh, but I couldn’t—” she began.

“Take it,” Doc insisted. “Better on a young bride’s hand than in an old man’s grave.”

“But how can I—”

Her protest ended in a gasp as Logan seized her work-worn hand and shoved the ring onto her finger. The dainty gold band fit perfectly. Trembling, Emma stared down at it, then snatched her hand away.

“By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” The judge paused, waiting, most likely, for the customary kiss. The bride stood frozen in place, eyes fixed on the floor. Clearly it wasn’t going to happen.

“Well, then…” The judge checked his gold turnip watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a stage to catch. But first a few words of advice. I’m well aware that this is no ideal way to start a marriage. But with patience and good intent, there’s no reason you can’t make it work. The marshal has orders to check on you at his discretion, to make sure the terms of your sentence are being met. Mr. Devereaux, gambling is no profession for a family man. I suggest you find a job forthwith. There’s plenty of honest work to be had in the mines and mills. As for you, Mrs. Devereaux—” He turned his scowl on Emma. “It’s a woman’s duty to be a proper and submissive wife to her husband in all respects. I suggest you remember that in the days ahead.”

A proper and submissive wife. Logan’s mouth twitched in a wry smile. He could just imagine what his bride thought of that advice.

Not that he was any happier about the judge’s counsel to him. True, the rootless life of a gambler didn’t lend itself to raising a family. But working ten hours a day, seven days a week in the black bowels of a mine for three dollars a day would be little better than prison. As for the dusty, deafening bedlam of the stamp mills…

But never mind that. He was a man, with a man’s responsibilities. Whatever it took to provide for his new family, he would do it.

Gathering up his cloak and hat, the judge lumbered out the door, leaving Logan, Emma and Doc in the small office. Logan was grateful for the old man’s presence. If nothing else, it put off the inevitable moment when he would face his bride alone. Emma stood in silence, gazing down at the ring on her finger. What was he supposed to do now? He was no longer under arrest, but he had no cash and no way back to Park City. He’d left a valise, with his spare clothes and toiletries, in his room at the Park City Hotel before he’d gone to the saloon that night. But since he hadn’t paid in more than a week, his things could be anywhere.

And now he had a wife to take care of.

It was Doc who came to the rescue. “My buggy’s out behind the jail,” he said. “And I know a back road where those galoots out front aren’t likely to follow us. I’d be glad to drive you to Park City.”

“I’d be much obliged,” Logan said.

“I’m the one who’s obliged,” Doc responded. “It was trying to save my worthless life that got you into this mess. And speaking of that…” He fumbled in his vest and brought out a thick, rumpled manila envelope. “I gathered up your winnings when the marshal hauled you off to jail. Figured if you wound up with your neck in a noose I’d give them to the young lady, here. But since you’re alive and a free man, in a manner of speaking…” He thrust the envelope into Logan’s hands. Dizzy with relief, Logan felt the weight of it. He never counted his winnings while he was still at the table, but he knew he’d been doing pretty well before young Carter showed up. How much was he holding?

“I took the liberty of adding up what you’d won,” Doc continued. “Hard to place a value on the stock or on that mine you won from Thorson. But there’s enough cash to set you up for a few—”

“Wait!” Logan broke in. “You say I won a mine?”

“That’s right. The Constellation, it’s called. Not a big setup, mind you. Thorson started it on a shoestring, then pretty much abandoned it when he found richer diggings in Woodside Gulch. But the ore assayed at thirty-one ounces of silver to the ton, rich enough to make a tidy profit. Just needs digging and hauling.”

“I’ll be damned,” Logan muttered. “But I don’t know the first thing about mining.”

“Well, if the way you play poker’s any indication, you’re smart enough to learn. In any case, if you take what’s in this envelope and put it to work, you could end up comfortably well off, if not downright rich. Think what that security could mean for The missus, here.”

He glanced toward Emma, who stood cloaked in stubborn silence. The girl hadn’t asked for this, Logan reminded himself. She deserved a respectable life, with a safe, cozy home, a wardrobe of pretty dresses and no worries about where her next meal was coming from. The last thing she needed was a man dragging her and her baby from town to town, living in shoddy hotel rooms, flush one day and penniless the next.