Outlaw Hearts(180)

Elizabeth Ann Parker, daughter of mine-owner and rancher, Zane Parker, of Colorado Springs and Denver, was wed to Mr. David Vogel, a prominent druggist from Chicago, Illinois, on Saturday, August 1. There was much more, about Parker’s wealth, about how the newlyweds planned to take a trip to Europe soon.

Why had she done this? Had she been so quick then to judge him because of his father? Was she that vulnerable to her own father’s wishes? This wasn’t Beth. She had made him promises. She would have talked to him before doing something like this, explained it to him.

He was determined to confront her. He had intended to stay around St. Louis until the trial was over, had bought himself some whiskey and camped out in the wooded hills beyond the city to wait for the big day. Pangs of guilt stabbed at him for not going to his mother and Evie, not being with them through the trial, but anger and bitterness still burned in his gut like hot coals.

Because of his father, Beth was lying in some other man’s arms. He had seen the article and had left St. Louis right away, feeling betrayed, even angrier. He hadn’t even been given the opportunity to see Beth once more, to talk about any of it. It was as though someone had ripped out his heart and he was standing back staring at it. Knowing she was with someone else was worse than if she had died.

He had loaded up his horse and taken the train to Chicago, where he had spent three days trying to find the right David Vogel, the right address. Now he was here. All he had to do was find the courage to go over to that house and get the truth out of Beth, husband or no husband. He took a fifth of whiskey from his saddlebag and took another swallow. He’d gotten to like this stuff, liked the way it soothed the pain in his heart, made the ugliness of life a little less ugly. He tried to ignore the little voice inside that told him if he really loved Beth, he’d not bother her, the voice that told him she was better off. He took a deep breath, put the whiskey back and adjusted his hat, then stomped across the street and up to the double front doors of the elegant home. Lace curtains graced the frosted door-windows. He rang the bell, and moments later a servant answered. “Yes?”

“I’m here to see Miss, I mean Mrs. David Vogel.”

“Mrs. Vogel and her husband are at the opera. Are you a friend? May I leave a message?”

“When will they be back?”

“Oh, quite late, I suppose. They’re attending a small party afterward.” The old woman smiled. “Mr. Vogel is enjoying showing off his new wife to all his friends, you know. Who shall I say called?”

Showing off his new wife? She belonged to Lloyd Hayes! No, Lloyd Harkner…Harkner…son of Jake Harkner. “Is she happy?”

“Well, as happy as a new young bride can be, I suppose. She is very young, but we’re all helping her, and Mr. Vogel is terribly kind to her.”

Lloyd nodded and stepped back. “Thank you.” He turned.

“Sir!” the old woman called out. “May I give Mrs. Vogel a message?”

Lloyd looked back at her. “Just tell her I think I understand. Tell her good-bye.”

“But…what is your name?”

“She’ll know.” Lloyd hurried down the steps and disappeared beyond the house lights. The old woman stared after him curiously, then closed and locked the door.

Lloyd walked back across the street and mounted his horse. Its hooves clattered against the brick street as he headed away from the rows of elegant homes and toward distant lights that told him there were plenty of taverns and wild women waiting in the night in a city like this.

So, she was happy, was she? Well, he wasn’t. Did she care? Maybe he should listen to that little voice. His own life was miserable enough now. Why should he make hers miserable too? This wasn’t Beth’s fault.

He rode on for several blocks, passing buggies and trolley cars, finally coming into an area where he could hear laughter and piano music. More whiskey, that was what he needed, whiskey and women, cards and a good smoke. His father had always told him to stay away from those things, especially the whiskey. Whiskey can make a man do foolish things, he had warned. Sometimes it makes him do cruel things. Had the man been talking about his father? What did it matter? If Jake didn’t want him to drink, then he would drink! He would do every damn thing his father had told him not to do. After all, the man had lied to him all his life. Maybe whiskey and whores and gambling weren’t so bad after all. Hell, Jess had taught him how to play cards when he was just a kid. If there weren’t a law in this town against carrying weapons, he’d strap on Jake’s Peacemakers. Might as well go all the way. He’d been practicing drawing those guns, was getting pretty fast at it, he thought. That was something else his father had never let him do—wear a handgun. Well, once he got out of this city, he was going to wear two pearl-handled, perfectly balanced Colt .44–.40’s, the guns that belonged to the infamous Jake Harkner.