by Lynda J. Cox
“You will not be going to jail,” Rachel said.
Allison watched Rachel look from A.J. to her before Rachel added, “The first time he saw Drake, he turned as white as the proverbial ghost. When he finally told me why Drake rattled him so much, I couldn’t tell if he was angry with himself or punishing himself. I can guarantee neither one of you will be going to jail. At this moment, he’s trying to figure out how to make it all right.”
A.J. walked across the room to the window and peered into the darkness. “Rachel, he can’t turn the clock back. Even if he could, I wouldn’t want him to.” He glanced over his shoulder at Allison. “I wouldn’t want to lose what I have now.”
Chapter Fifteen
Summum ius summa Iniuria.
(Extreme justice is extreme injustice.)
~Legal Maxim cited by Cicero
Allison woke with A.J. thrashing in the bedding. He flung an arm up over his head and a full bodied shudder shook him. “Please…no more…please…”
Allison shook his shoulder. “A.J., wake up. Wake up.”
“No…please…”
The abject terror in his voice cascaded over her. Anger flared to life in her—anger with the man who caused this kind of fear and panic to be a horrific part of A.J.’s life, anger with Harrison Taylor for even subjecting A.J. to the circumstances that created this. She shook his shoulder harder, desperate to wake him and pull him away from his memories.
Gasping and wild-eyed, he sat bolt upright in the bed. His struggle to free himself of the constraints of the down comforter turned frantic and Allison pulled the bedding away from him. He snapped his gaze to her and the alarm in his eyes drove deep into her breast. She risked touching his shoulder and when he didn’t shove her away, ran a calming hand down his arm. “It’s okay. You’re not there.”
He lurched from the bed, pulling his denims on. “I have to get out of here. I can’t breathe.” He jerked his overcoat on, the faded gold braid catching light from the banked coals on the hearth.
Not sure what to say to that, Allison rolled out of bed. “I’ll go with you.” She pulled on the robe Rachel had left for her and dragged her short coat on over the robe.
They walked down the hallway, down the steps, and then through the house and out the back door. He staggered several feet from the porch, gulping air as if he had been held under water too long. Allison waited on the porch, shivering in the cold night. A.J. paced in front of the corral, his steps labored.
Somewhere in the foothills around the ranch, a wolf howled and was joined by another. Within moments, the night was alive with the haunting cry of the pack. Allison shivered again. Those voices sounded so lost and alone.
“Why’s he out there pacing?” Drake’s voice sounded behind her.
Allison spun around. Harrison and Rachel stood behind her, and behind them, Drake and Royce; all of them in varying states of undress, Royce the least dressed. His shirt wasn’t buttoned and he was barefoot. It seemed the only ones who hadn’t been disturbed were the children and Jessie.
“He was having a nightmare and when I woke him up, he said he couldn’t breathe. He had to get out of the house.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Harrison said and took a step forward.
Allison caught his coat, stopping him. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Sometimes, when he’s back there, trapped in those memories, he talks to me, but it isn’t me he’s talking to. He thinks I’m one of his sergeants. If he’s in one of those nightmares, seeing you might push him totally over the edge. I’ll never get him back.”
Harrison actually seemed to shrink. “How often has he done this since you’ve been with him?”
“Twice. Once during a very bad thunderstorm and tonight. When he saw your horse, it almost triggered another episode. I think between seeing Oakten in town and then you, it was all too much to keep buried.”
“Damn. How much do you know about—?”
Allison wanted to hurt the marshal as deeply as he had injured A.J. Her earlier anger with Taylor for his role in creating A.J.’s anguish roared to life. “Just what he’s told me and that was enough to give me nightmares. And, if you knew what was happening to him, I should hope you’re haunted by what you did to him in sending him there.”
A moment of stunned silence reigned. Rachel recovered first. “Go to him, Allison. I’ll take these three into the house and start some coffee brewing. It might be a rather long night.”
Allison waited until Rachel herded the men into the house before she crossed the yard to A.J. He still paced in staggering steps and muttered too quietly for her to make out the words. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow and dripped down what she could see of his throat not hidden by the standup collar of his greatcoat.
“A.J.”
He stopped and pulled himself painfully to attention. “Colonel.”
“No.” She stepped closer to him, feeling her heart breaking. “It’s me.” She reached her hand to him and bit back a soft cry when he flinched. She ran her hand along his cheek, tracing the thin scar scoring his cheekbone, and stepped closer to him. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with me, and you’re safe.”
“…no more…” He sounded completely broken.
“A.J., look at me. I’m not who you think I am. Look at me, please.” She stepped even closer to him, pressed the length of her body against his, and curled her fingers through his hair. “It’s Allison.” She rose to her tiptoes and pulled his head down at the same time. She brushed a kiss across his lips. “You’re with me. You’re not there.”
He pulled a shuddering breath in, trembling from head to foot. And, then he wrapped her in his arms, clinging to her and enveloping her in his embrace. His breath came in long gasps, as if he was fighting back a soul-deep pain. “Alli…”
Allison’s chin pressed into the junction of his neck and shoulder. She drew a hand down his head, and kept repeating, “It’s okay. You’re not there anymore. You’re not there.”
After several minutes, A.J. released her. “You’re shivering. Let’s get you back into the house.”
“Are you all right, now?” Allison still had her hand resting on his shoulder and she looked into his face. The nightmares remained, lingering in the depths of his eyes, but he nodded.
“I’ll be fine.”
They walked into the house. A note was propped on a coffee cup in the middle of the kitchen table. Allison picked it up and read aloud, “‘If you want to join us, we’re all in the front parlor. Rachel.’”
“Who are ‘we’?” A.J. asked.
Allison set the note down and slipped her hand into the safe confines of his. “Rachel, Harrison, Drake, and Majors. If you don’t want to see them right now, we can just go on upstairs.”
He squeezed her hand. “I won’t be sleeping the rest of the night. May as well go join the party.”
They walked into the parlor. Drake, Royce, and Harrison stood. Rachel quickly turned away, but Allison was certain she had been crying. Drake and Royce appeared dumbfounded and Harrison had the air of a whipped dog.
Without a word, A.J. poured a cup of coffee from the carafe and held it out to Allison. She quickly doctored it with cream and sugar and then stood as close to him as she could without actually being in contact.
The fire on the hearth crackled and popped, sounding abnormally loud. Harrison finally broke the heavy silence. “How often does that happen?”
A.J. lifted his shoulder. “Not as often as it did and it depends on a lot of things. Thunderstorms almost always do it to me. Too much alcohol, so needless to say, I avoid liquor most of the time.” Coffee gurgled into another cup. “Apparently seeing both you and Oakten in the same day was a little much.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t you dare offer me an apology.”
Allison tilted her head. She’d never heard that kind of fury from him. His features were set in ice and that cold crackled in his words.
“I will not salve your conscience.”
A.J. set the coffee cup on the sideboard. “You think an apology will undo the hell I endured because you had your orders? Or undo the agony when I was subjected to Oakten’s idea of corporal punishment for insubordination because I refused to cooperate in the execution of four of my men who attempted to escape? Your apology isn’t going to change the circumstances of Jed’s death. He was shot because he was wearing that damned overcoat and he died in my arms. Damn you, I’m not your priest and I will not offer you absolution.”
He was holding himself so rigid Allison was afraid he would snap if he moved. She set her hand on his back, and drew her palm in a slow circle between his shoulder blades. At the moment, it was the only balm she could offer. She wasn’t even certain he felt her hand on his back because his inflexible posture didn’t change and he didn’t acknowledge her attempt to ease his anger.
“I’m not trying to salve my conscience. Frankly, I don’t think there are enough acts of contrition to grant me absolution.” Harrison limped across the room to the sideboard and poured a full tumbler of alcohol. “I will say what I was going to say. I’m not sure I could have done what you did.”
The tensed, knotted muscles under her hand loosened. A.J. dropped his gaze for a moment, and then slowly lifted his head. “Why are you limping?”
“Nice change of subject,” Harrison said. “I broke my leg a couple of years ago. It bothers me a lot when it’s cold. Now, to change the subject again, why don’t the both of you tell me why there’s a reward for your apprehension on murder charges?”
****
The bell over the door of the jail jangled. In the far corner of the room, Allison stood, shrouded in shadows. Even though she knew Harrison and Drake were in the other room, and A.J. was right there with her, her stomach still knotted.
“Your deputy said you wanted to see me, Marshal.”
A.J. pushed his hat back and turned the swivel chair around to the door. He uncoiled his length from the chair. “Oakten.”
The man took a step back, apparently shocked. “Adams?”
“How gracious of you to remember.”
He recovered quickly. “I believe, Adams, when addressing a superior, there is usually a ‘Mister’ or ‘Sir’ combined with that superior’s name.”
The lazy lift of a corner of A.J.’s mouth would have sent ice careening through Allison’s veins had it been aimed at her. “At one time you out-ranked me but as I said before, I will argue the other until the second coming. You will never be my superior.”
Oakten’s hand strayed closer to the gun strapped to his thigh. Allison lifted the revolver Harrison gave her, pointed it into the middle of the man’s back and pulled the hammer back. The metallic click sounded as loud as gunshot in the small office. He started to turn but froze when A.J. barked, “Don’t you look away from me.”
He didn’t move.
“Not so entirely pleasant, is it, when you’re the one at the distinct disadvantage?” A.J. asked.
“If the only reason your deputy brought me here is so you can attempt to intimidate me, I have other business to attend to. I will be leaving.”
That icy smile, devoid of any humor, again skittered across A.J.’s expression. “He’s not my deputy.”
Harrison stepped out of the back room with that, badge worn prominently. “He’s my deputy and…”—he paused while Drake followed him out—“this gentleman has been telling me a very interesting story about the kidnapping of a young boy and the murder of a woman and her two daughters at a place called Clayborne in Kentucky back in sixty-six. Maybe you remember it? I believe it was also Major Adams’s home and his wife and daughters you murdered.”
Allison watched Oakten’s head swivel from Drake to A.J. and back again. He pivoted to the door, bent to run, only to straighten when Ben Hauser, foreman at the Lazy L and Harrison’s deputy entered, a double barreled shot gun pointed into his mid-section. If the situation hadn’t been so deadly serious, Allison would have enjoyed watching the man reacting like a trapped rat.
Oakten’s head twisted to Harrison. “A murder and kidnapping that happened twelve years ago? What would I know about that? That was a long time ago.”
“Not long enough for the statute of limitations to be up. There isn’t a time limit for charging someone for murder.” Harrison picked a set of wrist shackles off the desk. “I’m arresting you for the murder of Catherine Margaret Adams, Caroline Sarah Adams and Aimee Grace Adams.”
The man who had haunted her nightmares and nearly destroyed A.J.’s life actually laughed. “He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight at the time and if he thinks he saw me there, he’s sorely mistaken.”
The same glacial cold as in A.J.’s eyes filled Drake’s. It was startling how similar they were. “Actually, I was nine and I know what I saw and who I saw.”
“It will never stick,” Oakten threatened. “A good lawyer will tear you apart on the witness stand.”
A.J.’s frigid smile grew. “My brother is a good lawyer and he’s going to make sure you hang.”
Allison stepped out of the shadows. “Even if we can’t hang you for killing Jack Dupree and Darci Chambers and my sister and nephew, you will hang for killing A.J.’s wife and daughters.”
All the color drained from his face. “One telegram,” he claimed, “and I will have twenty men from Colton County here to swear I wasn’t anywhere near your sister’s house that night. They will swear I was never in Kentucky.”
“I’m sure they would,” Harrison stated, leaning a hip onto his desk, “but, you’re not going to send a telegram.” He glanced over at his shoulder at A.J. “Raise your right hand, A.J.”
“Why?”
“For the love of God, just once, don’t question everything I ask you to do, and raise your hand.”
“If I question it, it’s because every time we got into trouble when we were growing up and at VMI, it was because I didn’t question you. And a hell of a lot of good it did me to question you at Johnson’s Island.” A.J. lifted his right hand. “I hope I don’t regret this.”
“You won’t,” Harrison assured him. “Adrean James Adams, Jr., do you solemnly swear that you will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that you will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that you take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that you will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which you are about to enter, so help you God?”
“I do.”
Harrison grinned. “Congratulations. If you weren’t before, you’re now a reconstructed rebel. Oh, and that’s also the oath I give to my deputies.” He tossed the shackles to A.J. “Put those on him and put him in a cell, deputy.”
Allison stepped up to Oakten’s back and pushed the muzzle of the gun into his spine. “If you even breathe wrong, I will pull this trigger.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m not stupid enough to attempt to do anything when it is more than apparent I am out-numbered and out-gunned.”
A.J. gestured for the man to extend his hands. He clamped the shackles onto Oakten’s wrists and twisted the key to close them down and lock them. Allison lifted the revolver from the holster at their prisoner’s hip. A.J. then caught the three links between the man’s wrists and dragged him to a cell.
“Wait a second,” Harrison stated. “Ben, hand me that shotgun, will you?”
“You’re going to shoot him?” A.J. asked, clearly shocked.
“Nope.” Harrison nudged his head. “Step to the side, A.J.”
Even as A.J. stepped to his left, and before Oakten could turn to see what was happening, Harrison crashed the butt of the shotgun into the man’s back. A.J. winced. The man sprawled face forward and crawled into the cell. Harrison slammed the door and twisted the key.
“You should be very thankful that the past twelve years coupled with three years of marriage have mellowed me or I’d be in there telling you to get up so I could do that
again. I kept track of every time you did that exact thing to my friend in your office. There is a difference between coercion and torture. You stepped over the line that afternoon and from what I heard and saw you stepped over the line many, many times.” Harrison pivoted and tossed the shotgun to Ben. “Tell Rachel I won’t be home for supper.”
“Right, Boss. Want me to stop at the Morrises and tell them to send supper down for you and the prisoner?”
Harrison nodded. “And, stop by Dave Bogenschuetz’s and have him write an estimate for lumber to build a gallows. Tell him I need it in writing if he wants the territory to reimburse him.”
“Can I put this gun down now?” Allison asked.
A.J. chuckled, “It’s not loaded.”
“I know that, but I still don’t like it.” She dropped it onto Harrison’s desk.
Drake walked over to the cell holding the prisoner. He leaned a shoulder onto the cell door. “There is one other small problem.”
Allison, A.J., and Harrison all turned to look at him. Drake dipped his head. “Unless Mr. Oakten here is willing to exonerate Allison, she’s still facing a double murder charge in Georgia and you’re facing a triple murder charge in Nebraska. You’re both going to need a good lawyer.”
Oakten started laughing. “Adams, I think now is the time to start making deals. Your wife’s life for mine. What is her life worth to you?”
Before anyone said anything, Drake held a hand up. “Not one word.”
“Hell,” A.J. growled, dropping his hand onto his revolver. “Just let me shoot him here and now.”
“That won’t help either one of you.” Drake gestured to the door. “Harrison, how secure is this jail?”
“If you’re asking if he can get out of here, not likely.”
“Then, we need to go somewhere to discuss what we’re going to do about this.”
Allison followed Drake and Harrison into the jail almost an hour later. A.J. trailed behind. Oakten leaned against the bars of the cell, sending a smile at Allison that made her skin crawl. “Has he decided your life is worth more than his revenge?”
