Tilghman grinned. “None that I can’t control.”
“What a shame.” She laughed, hugged his arm. “Will we be camping out along the way?”
“Tell your pa I’ll bring separate bedrolls.”
“Omigosh! I can’t wait till he hears that!”
On the west side of the square, they turned back toward the hotel. She looked up at the sky and wondered what it would be like to camp with him under starlight. Not the same as being married and snug together in their own bed. Still, she told herself, it was a start.
Two bedrolls were better than nothing.
* * *
Tilghman halted the buckboard on the outskirts of Lawson. The trip had taken a day and a night, and he’d timed it to arrive early the second morning. He handed Zoe the reins, then moved to the rear of the buckboard, where his horse was hitched. He planned to wait while she called on Edith Doolin.
“All set?” he said, returning with his horse. “You remember how to find the house?”
“Stop worrying,” she said, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Your instructions were quite clear. I’m sure I’ll have no problem.”
“Just give her the money and leave. Don’t let her get you into a conversation.”
“Honestly, Bill, you’ve told me a dozen times. I know what to do.”
She gave him a quick kiss, and drove off. Last night, camped beside a creek, he had behaved like a perfect gentleman. She’d been ambivalent then, and still had mixed emotions, for she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But she had no ambivalence, no reservations whatever about today’s mission. She thought of it as a pleasant conspiracy, their own little secret.
Some minutes later Zoe reined up before the house. She stepped down, securing the horse to a hitching post, and proceeded along the pathway. On the front porch, she quickly checked her gaily feathered hat, then knocked on the door. The woman who opened it was her own age, though shorter and plumper. Zoe nodded with an engaging smile.
“May I speak with Mrs. Edith Doolin?”
“I’m Edith Doolin.”
“I wonder if we might have a word in private?”
“Who are you?”
“A friend, Mrs. Doolin. My name is Zoe Stratton.”
Edith Doolin hesitated a moment, then held the door open. Zoe entered, moving into the parlor as an older woman came out of the kitchen. After closing the door, the girl motioned Zoe toward a sofa. Then she looked at the older woman.
“It’s all right, mama,” she said in a dull voice. “Would you check on the baby for me? He probably needs changing.”
She turned back to the parlor. Zoe noticed that she had dark smudges under her eyes as if she had not slept well, and there was a haunted, fearful cast to her features. She gave Zoe a veiled look.
“What can I do for you, Miss—Mrs.?—Stratton?”
“Miss,” Zoe clarified. “Won’t you call me Zoe? And may I call you Edith? I feel like I know you already.”
Edith seemed disarmed by her open manner. She took a seat beside Zoe on the sofa. “How is it you know about me?”
“A mutual friend asked me to call on you.”
“What for?”
Zoe took an envelope from her purse. “I was asked to give you this.”
Edith accepted the envelope. She opened the flap and her mouth ovaled with a sharp intake of breath. After a moment, she riffled through the stack of greenbacks. “God,” she said softly, glancing at Zoe. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars.”
“Who’s it from?”
Zoe smiled. “An anonymous friend.”
“Anonymous?” Edith repeated, as though testing the word. “Someone who doesn’t want their name known?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be too hard to guess. It’s from one of Bill’s men, isn’t it? Clifton or West.”
Zoe realized she was being drawn into conversation. Her instructions were to deliver the money and leave. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to allow a false impression. “I’m sorry,” she said with some conviction. “The money isn’t from any of your husband’s men.”
Edith tilted her head. “Who’s it from, then?”
“I really wish I could tell you. But the donor wants to remain anonymous.”
“What do you mean donor? Is this some kind of charity?”
“No, no,” Zoe said quickly. “It’s a gift from someone who has your best interests at heart. A gift for you and your son.”
Edith studied her a moment. “Where are you from?”
“What difference does that make?”
“Are you afraid to tell me for some reason?”
“Chandler,” Zoe said, not willing to lie. “I live outside Chandler with my father.”
Edith sat straighter, staring at her. “The marshal that caught Bill—the one named Tilghman—he’s from Chandler, isn’t he?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Stop treating me like a fool! I read it in one of those newspaper stories. He’s from Chandler, isn’t he?”
“Yes, I believe he is,” Zoe said evasively. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
“I get it now.” Edith’s voice sounded brittle. “My husband’s going to hang and Tilghman’s feeling guilty about the reward.” Her gaze dropped to the money in her lap. “This is half the reward, isn’t it?”
“Edith, listen to me,” Zoe said earnestly. “Your husband had that exact amount on him when he was captured. Marshal Tilghman just thought you should have it, that’s all. He feels compassion for you, not guilt.”
“Who are you, anyway? What’s Tilghman to you?”
“I—” Zoe hesitated, unable to avoid the truth. “I’m engaged to him. We’re going to be married.”
“I met him,” Edith said distantly. “When I went to the jail at Guthrie, he was there. I thanked him for not killing Bill.”
“Funny that both of our men are named Bill. We have something in common.”
“I suppose you could look at it that way. Do you think I ought to keep this money?”
“Of course you should,” Zoe said firmly. “If not for yourself, then for your boy. Your husband would want you to have it.”
“Maybe he would.” Edith smiled wanly. “When you see your Bill, thank him for me. You’ve got yourself a good man.”
On the way out, Zoe saw the older woman standing in the hall. She assumed the woman had been listening
