In The Beginning by Gail Daley (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

In the den, McCaffey sat forward in the hide-covered chair and frowned at St. Vyr. "Your letter made me curious enough to come out here, but I’m not sure what I think it said is what you meant."

St. Vyr rolled a brandy glass around in his huge hands. In the light from the windows, iron gray shone through what had once been a fiery head of hair. St. Vyr had been a powerful man before the shot had crippled him, and immense power still showed under the blue homespun shirt he wore. Since McCaffey knew St. Vyr owned a rich Bluestone mine and could have afforded to wear a silk shirt if he wanted to do so, it was obvious he was more comfortable in homespun.

"You didn’t make a mistake. I will make out the papers deeding you one third of the Golden Tricorn and the Lucky Strike, the day you marry my daughter, Bethany."

Alec knew from the gossip they had picked up in River Crossing what St. Vyr was facing. He wasn't surprised St. Vyr wanted a gunman, but the nature of the offer had thrown McCaffey off balance. His face showed none of his inner turmoil. To be offered everything he and Henry had worked toward for years was a tremendous temptation.

"You're offering an awful lot more than fighting wages, St. Vyr. Why?"

St. Vyr looked at him. "The Doc says I may not last much longer." He lifted the brandy glass. "I like this painkiller better than laudanum. You're right. I could hire a bunch of gunmen and take care of Johnson and his sons. But what about after I'm gone? Besides, anybody I hired, well if he didn't have a stake in the pot, he might get to thinking there was only a cripple and four women to keep him from taking over. Married to one of my girls, he'd be family."

McCaffey snorted. "If I was that kind of sander, St. Vyr, I don't reckon being married would stop me."

St. Vyr set the glass down on the desk with a bang. "Dammit!" he roared, driven to the last ditch, "I want my girls to be happy. I always wanted one of them to marry a man who could take care of things. Well, they ain't done it."

"Why did you pick me?"

St. Vyr smiled a little wryly. "You recall a job up North for a man named Bill Spears?"

McCaffey's face showed none of his surprise. He had brought that job to a successful conclusion avoiding the usual blood bath.

"Spears is kind of my brother-in-law. My second wife Astrid was sister to his wife. We were courting about the same time and we got to be friends. He still writes me from time to time. Bill told me quite a lot about you."

McCaffey got up and stood looking out the window. It was a measure of how disturbed he was that he turned his back on St. Vyr.

St. Vyr watched him in silence, trying to see him as his daughter would. McCaffey was a little below medium height, not slim, but not fat either and he moved with the smoothness of a well-honed blade. His dark hair was clean; his wedge-shaped face clean-shaven, dark brown eyes looked out over a large, well-shaped nose. The nose had a scar across it, the obvious legacy of a knife fight. The boy was well enough looking he supposed, although Bethany had never seemed impressed by good looks. If she had been, she would have accepted the oldest Johnson boy’s proposal.

"St. Vyr," said McCaffey at last, over his shoulder, "what makes you think you can order a girl to marry someone? Here on St. Antoni women have rights."

St. Vyr took another sip of his brandy. "Bethany's a good girl. She knows her duty. You needn't be thinking I'm going to foist an antidote on you either. She’s got her mother's looks. 'Course she got my hair, but on her it looks good. And she will always tell you the truth. There's been times when I wish she wasn't so truthful, but that's another story," he added hastily.

"St. Vyr," said McCaffey grimly, trying to take control of the conversation, "let me make this real plain. I am not about to marry any girl who feels she doesn’t have a choice. The last thing I want is a wife who resents having to marry me."

St. Vyr chuckled. He levered himself up out of his oversized chair with his crutches.

"I think it's time you and my daughter got better acquainted. Let’s go to dinner."

Exasperated, McCaffey followed his soon-to-be father-in-law out of the room.

Bethany was nervous. It was too early to go back downstairs, so instead she fussed with her hair which Lisette had helped her sweep into a loose knot at the crown of her head. Soft red curls wafted around her face. She checked her dress in the mirror, and decided, again, that it was perfect for a dinner at home 'en famille'. The dress was a soft green made of thin material in deferral to the heat. In the new style, the bodice was deceptively modest, the sheer cloth descending from a high collar to the waist. The blouse was designed to catch a man's eye; that sheer overblouse covered a low-cut chemise showing the full curve of her breasts. The nipped in waist showed off Bethany's hourglass figure to perfection and the full, knee length skirt swayed enticingly when she walked. Gran had picked out the dress. Bethany wished for that strong presence to be in here giving her a pep talk. She was sure there was no social situation, not even this one, that Gran wouldn't have been able to handle with aplomb.

I can't do this! She thought in panic. But that other voice, the one she had listened to all her life said, Oh, yes you can; You must. Do you want to be out in the street earning money for food on your back, like those Jones women