Suddenly there came the sound of loud clapping.
Byrony turned slowly to see her husband standing but a few feet away. For an instant she didn’t believe it was really he.
“I’m proud of you, Byrony,” he said, smiling at her. He turned toward her gaping father. “As for you, if you raise a hand to my wife or her mother, I will kill you, with great pleasure.”
“Who the hell—You aren’t supposed to be here.”
“Leave my wife unprotected with her loving father? Not a chance, old man. I think it’s time you sobered up.”
Brent grabbed her father by the collar of his shirt and the seat of his pants. He dragged him, cursing furiously, and dumped him into the horse’s watering trough.
“That’s your husband?” Alice DeWitt said.
“Yes,” Byrony said with great relish. “That’s my husband.” She burst into laughter.
The two women watched as Brent dunked Madison DeWitt repeatedly, then hauled him out. “He’ll be just fine, ma’am,” Brent called to Alice as he dragged Madison DeWitt to the stable. “He just needs to sleep awhile.”
“I’m sorry, Alice,” Brent said some minutes later to Byrony’s mother, “but he truly does need to rest a bit.”
“Probably,” Alice said, looking toward the stable. “Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Hammond?”
“Brent, ma’am. Yes, I think I would.”
“Mother,” Byrony said, “if it’s all right with you, I’d like to speak to Brent for a moment.” She said nothing more until her mother disappeared into the house. “I’m surprised she didn’t run after you and attack you for hurting her sweet husband.”
“It’s her life, Byrony. Leave it be. There’s nothing you can do.”
“What are you doing here?”
He heard the uncertainty in her voice, and forgot his anger at her. Actually, by the time he’d reached Panama, he’d felt so damned proud of her, he couldn’t wait to see her. He was certainly right when he’d told Laurel that Byrony would never bore him. He smiled down at her. “Well, I figured it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to escort my wife from San Diego to San Francisco.”
“I don’t need your escort.” She raised her chin. “You know very well what I’d planned to do, Brent. I meant it. After all, the saloon is mine and the baby’s too.”
“You did, did you? Well, I just might let you, love. Follow through with your plans, that is. I’ll have more than enough to do to keep me busy.”
“What do you mean by that?” She eyed him suspiciously.
“Later, Byrony. I’ll tell you later.”
They left San Diego three days later, with Byrony humming to herself. Brent was as slippery as the proverbial eel. But it didn’t matter. Let him be as silent as a clam. Let him play with her, joke, and tantalize. She kept asking him to explain things to her, and when he put her off, she lowered her head so he wouldn’t see her wicked smile when he kept saying “later” to her.
She waved to her mother from the deck of the Flying Billy. She drew back, startled, when her father appeared suddenly beside her mother and waved to them.
“What the devil is he doing here?” she wondered aloud.
“I imagine Madison DeWitt is a happy man,” Brent said.
“What do you mean by that?” She smiled impishly back up at him. “I know. You’ll tell me later.”
“That’s right.”
Their cabin was small, holding but one narrow bed and a tiny armoire, and a caned chair.
“This is the best I could do for the three of us,” Brent said, tossing his coat on the single chair.
Byrony eyed her husband from a distance of three feet, her arms crossed over her bosom. “Well?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me how deliriously happy you are to have me with you again? All to yourself, as it were.”