Free The Ballad of Emma O'Toole by Elizabeth Lane Page A

friends would likely turn against her.
    A glance at the clock told her it was nearly 4:00 a.m. Finding the afghan, she covered herself as best she could and settled back in the chair to examine the idea that had just come to her.
    The judge had told Logan that if he abandoned his bride, or mistreated her in any way, he would serve out his sentence in prison. Put her husband back behind bars, and she would be rid of him
and
have legal right to his assets.
    The idea was cold-blooded. But Logan Devereaux deserved to suffer for what he’d done. If she could provoke him into leaving her or lashing out in anger, she could report the action to the marshal and her dilemma would be resolved.
    Emma had never committed a deliberate act of cruelty in her life, but now she had a promise to keep. She would harden her heart and do what that promise required.
    Logan awoke at first light. Emma’s side of the bed was cold and empty.
    Raising his head, he saw her. She was slumped in one of the chairs, her head lolling to one side like a tired bird’s. Her long, pale braid hung over one shoulder. She was fully clothed and fast asleep.
    Last night when she’d slept beside him, it had been all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms and pulling her under him. Feigning slumber had been torment when she’d shifted her rump to rest against his crotch. It had been a blessed relief when she’d slipped out of bed. Only then had he managed to get some real sleep.
    Standing, he stretched his aching muscles. He could use a bath, but that would have to wait. On this, the first day of his new life, he’d made a long mental list of things that needed attention—foremost among them, his claim to the Constellation Mine.
    Stepping into the bathroom, he emerged a short time later, dressed and groomed for theday. Emma slept on, her lovely eyes shadowed in weariness. Logan paused to gaze down at her.
    His wife
.
    Lord, what was he supposed to do with her? He was adept enough in the bedroom, but what did he know about sharing his life with another person? For the past seven years he’d kept to himself, trusting no one with his secrets. And he trusted Emma least of all. Being honest with her would be like handing her a loaded gun and inviting her to shoot him.
    How could he be any kind of husband to this woman?
    His bride had been through a hell of a time, Logan reminded himself—from her pregnancy and the death of her fiancé to the frigid days and nights of starving in a shanty. He remembered how she’d relished last night’s dinner. At least he could give her the gift of proper care. He could see that she’d never be hungry or cold again. And as for that rag that passed as a dress…
    His mouth twitched in a half smile as an idea struck him. Lifting the eiderdown quilt off the bed he laid it gently around her. Emma would wake to find him gone, but he felt confidentshe’d stay in the room. Where else could she go?
    She stirred, whimpered, then settled back into sleep. With a last cautious glance, Logan stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him.
    Emma woke at seven-thirty. The first thing she noticed was the warm quilt that covered her in the chair. The second was that Logan was gone.
    Neck and shoulders aching, she pushed the quilt aside and staggered to her feet. She was usually a light sleeper, but she had no recollection of his covering her. Even in the chair, she’d slept like a stone.
    Now what was she going to do? She had nothing to eat, nothing clean to wear, no money and no place to go. The wretched man had left her stranded here, without so much as a note to let her know when he’d be back.
    The room was cold but there was kindling in the wood box. At least making a fire would give her something to do.
    Opening the stove, she shook the ashes down through the grate and stacked the kindling with a log on top. The bathroom furnished enoughpaper to serve as tinder. Now all she needed was a match.
    She had wiped her hands