Taron tilted his head. “Yeah?”
She shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t want to give Taron false hope. “He’s working on your case.”
Libby grinned. “We went to the store last ...” Robbie looked at her in alarm, and Libby fell silent.
“To the store?” Taron’s forehead was furrowed.
“I needed a few things. We do need to get going now. I am tired.”
Taron gripped the bars, and she touched his hand. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Don’t worry about me. And get some rest.”
“I will.” With an effort, she moved away, glancing back over her shoulder, until she could no longer see him. She had to get him out. She would rest later.
Chapter Fourteen
When Robbie discovered Libby was good at sketching, she had renewed hope. That afternoon, she told Libby and Walter exactly what to do. She wanted to go with them, but they were right. Mr. Stewart would never grant her entry. Libby finished her sketches earlier than anticipated.
And so Robbie was finally able to rest, having done all she knew to do. She went upstairs and was able to nap for a couple of hours. She woke, freshened up, and went downstairs.
Walter was there, excitement on his face. He told Robbie the circuit judge had arrived and was at the hotel above the bar. The trial would go forward the next day.
Robbie barely ate a bite of supper. Immediately afterwards, she went to her room, but the downstairs clock struck midnight before she fell asleep.
The next morning, Brother James and Libby accompanied her to the makeshift courtroom, the bar with the tables removed, except one rectangular one at the front. The chairs lined up in rows, widened in the middle for people to easily find seats. Some of the chairs were grouped together and men were already sitting there — the jury, Robbie presumed.
Taron, Ander, and Mr. Bradford sat on the front right and Mr. Stewart with his lawyer on the left. They found seats on the left, disappointingly several rows back. Robbie could not even see the back of Taron’s head.
The bar filled up quickly with curious onlookers. The judge entered, with an unlit pipe in his hand, and took a seat at the front table, facing the crowd. The sheriff and his men leaned against the wall near the front.
The judge banged the bowl of his pipe on the table to quiet the crowd and then spoke. “The jury here today will pronounce judgment on these two men, Taron and Ander Babbitt, who have been accused of horse theft. Furthermore, Taron Babbitt has been accused of murdering Mr. Edward Stewart. This trial will first determine if Taron Babbitt murdered Mr. Stewart. If so, there won’t be no need to try the brothers on horse theft. Ander Babbitt will be hanged along with his brother. The murder would have been committed to cover their tracks and will prove both brothers guilty.”
Robbie expected Mr. Bradford to object, but he said nothing even though a low murmur ran through the crowed.
The judge ignored the murmur. “Now, Mr. Bradford ...”
Mr. Bradford stood, tugging down his coat sleeves, and faced the judge. “Yes, sir?”
“Does Taron Babbitt admit to the murder of Edward Stewart?”
“No, sir. He does not.”
“Shame. Would have saved a lot of time. Well, what does he have to say for himself?”
“He was with his wife all day and all night on Saturday. Therefore, he could not have committed the crime.”
The judge snorted. “Well, it’s difficult to believe a wife’s testimony, isn’t it? What else?”
“I have here the bullet that killed Edward Stewart. It came from a derringer.”
The prosecutor, a balding man, came to his feet. “Where did you get the bullet from? That could be from anywhere.”
The judge nodded his head in agreement as did several of the jury members.
Mr. Bradford cleared his throat. “Mrs. Babbitt removed it from the deceased in front of two witnesses, Elizabeth James and Walter Thornberry.”
Another murmur ran through the crowd, this time much louder. What? She dug that out of a dead man ... what kind of woman ... the preacher’s daughter... scandalous ...The judge banged the table with the bowl until Robbie thought he cracked it open. The crowd quieted.
“Sir ... sir ...”
“Yes, Mr. Ovington?”
The prosecutor glanced at the jury and then back to the judge. “Sir, what difference does it make if the bullet came from a derringer?”
The judge turned his attention to Mr. Bradford. “Can you answer that question, Mr. Bradford?”
“My client does not own a derringer.”
The crowd erupted in laughter, and the judge had to quiet them before he spoke. “Can it be proven Mr. Babbitt has never been in possession of a derringer?”
“No one has ever seen him with a derringer.”
The judge snorted and waved a hand. “So far you’ve given no evidence your client is innocent. He could have borrowed a derringer or owned one no one knew about. They’re small and easy to hide.” The judge made a wry face. “You’re wasting my time, Mr. Bradford.”
“If you will bear with me, I’d like to call Mr. Walter Thornberry as a witness.”
“Proceed.” The judge waved his hand, and Walter came forward and took a seat facing the crowd.
After Walter swore an oath on the Bible, Mr. Bradford approached him.
“Tell us what happened on Saturday, the day Edward Stewart was killed.”
“I’d went over to Mr. Stewart’s and went ’round to the backdoor.”
“What were you doing there?”
Walter twisted his hands together, and his voice shook when he spoke. “I was looking for work. Anyways, when I went to the back, I heard a pop, like the sound of a derringer.”
“Objection! How would he know the pop was from a derringer?”
“I didn’t say that,” Walter said. “I said it sounded like a derringer. I reckon I know what one sounds like.”
“So, you heard a pop? And you immediately thought it sounded like a derringer?” the judge asked.
“Well, no sir. Not then but when Mr. Stewart come out the door with a derringer in his hand, then I knewed it was a derringer I’d heard. And when he seen me, he put it back in his pocket.”
Mr. Ovington was on his feet again, his face a sneer. He spoke to Walter directly. “Are you accusing Mr. Stewart of killing his own son? That’s preposterous!”
Had Walter actually seen the derringer? Maybe Robbie’s questioning had jarred his memory. The crowd’s murmur became a loud roar. Walter looked down at his hands, not trying to talk over the crowd. He didn’t speak until the judge restored order.
Walter looked at the judge. “I ain’t accusing Mr. Stewart of anything. I’m just telling what I seen.”
Mr. Bradford touched Walter lightly on the arm and nodded encouragingly at him. “Go on.”
“Well, that’s all ’cept he was in a hurry to get rid of me.”
“And can you blame him?” Mr. Ovington said.
The crowd laughed, and Walter turned a deep shade of red. Robbie’s heart went out to him.
The judge was not amused. “Mr. Ovington, another remark like that and you’ll be removed from my courtroom.”
Mr. Ovington had the decency to look abashed.
Mr. Bradford nodded again. “Walt ... um, Mr. Thornberry, thank you.”
“I can go?” Walter asked. “You don’t want me to tell about Miz Babbitt digging out the bullet ...”
Mr. Bradford shook his head and Walter fell silent.
The judge looked at Mr. Ovington. “Do you have any questions for him?”
“No, sir.” Mr. Ovington resumed his seat and leaned over to speak to Mr. Stewart.
Walter got up and went out of the bar without making eye contact with anyone. Robbie sighed deeply.
“Are you finished now, Mr. Bradford?” the judge asked.
“No, sir. I’d like Mrs. Babbitt to come to the front.”
As she walked forward, the judge eyed her ove
r the top of his glasses, and then looked at Mr. Bradford frowning, as if he didn’t approve of a lady being called to testify. She reached the front, placed her hand on the Bible, and swore to tell the truth.
Mr. Bradford picked up the five sketches Libby had made and approached her. “Do you recognize these, Mrs. Babbitt?”
“Yes. Those are sketches I asked Miss James to make for me.”
“And what are they sketches of?”
“The first one is a sketch of the bullet I retrieved from the body of Mr. Edward Stewart.”
“Objection, Judge. This woman” — his lips puckered — “has no training in ...”
Robbie interrupted him. “Sir, I attended medical college and also was trained by my father who was a doctor.”
The judge leaned toward her. “Your father trained you? And who was your father?”
“My father was Dr. Robert Rutherford.”
A ripple ran through the crowd. Many gasped and some smiled while others nodded their heads as if in appreciation. The sneer disappeared from Mr. Ovington’s face and even the judge’s demeanor changed. Robbie knew her father was respected and well known but had no idea these people had heard of him.
Mr. Bradford ignored the murmuring, although a smile now played on his lips. “And you retrieved the bullet ...”
“Yes, I retrieved the bullet, and then Miss James went to the Stewart house. Mr. Stewart makes his own bullets for his derringer. She was able to get a close-up view of the mold, and that’s the second sketch you have.”
Mr. Bradford placed them in front of the judge who examined them and then motioned for Mr. Bradford to pass them on to the jury.
“And as you can see,” Robbie continued, without prompting from Mr. Bradford. “...the markings from the bullet corresponds to the markings on the mold.”
Mr. Ovington was on his feet, approaching her. “And what does that prove? Absolutely nothing.”
Mr. Bradford smiled, shaking his head. “On the contrary. There was a murder case in 1835 in London. A murderer was convicted when the bullet recovered from the dead body was matched to a mold in the murderer’s home.”
The judge adjusted his glasses and nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard about that case.”
One of the deputies slipped out the door, but Robbie wasn’t too worried. Walter had gone to pick up the mold and probably had it in his possession by now.
Mr. Ovington was glaring at Mr. Bradford. “None of this matters. Mr. Stewart would never kill his own son.”
Mr. Bradford turned to the jury. “But he did, perhaps because the horses my clients are accused of stealing were not stolen. The horses belonged to the Babbitt brothers.” He waved the other papers in his hand. “Here’s a sketch of the original brand, the Babbitt’s brand. And this is the brand recovered from Mr. Stewart’s barn. And the two together makes this. Look familiar? His son found the branding iron and confronted his father, resulting in an argument in this very saloon and heard by many.”
The judge glanced to the sheriff. “I’ve heard all I need. Arrest Mr. Stewart! Now!”
The sheriff reluctantly obeyed.
The judge thumped the bowl on the table. “And these two, the Babbitt brothers, are to be released immediately.” He nodded at Taron and Mr. Bradford. “Case dismissed.”
The crowd erupted in a roar. Robbie was up, stumbling toward Taron. He caught her in his arms, and everyone and everything faded away except the comfort of his arms — nothing mattered except Taron was safe.
Mr. James insisted they go to his house immediately after the trial. The excitement coursing through Robbie’s veins, that had kept her alert, dissipated, and she was glad to rest.
Folks poured into the James house and milled about downstairs, talking excitedly, their voices traveling into her room. The sound soothed, not jarred.
Taron wanted nothing more than to get a hot bath. After being in the jail for the last few days, he smelled horrible, and Robbie couldn’t really object. Mr. James graciously offered the use of his room to Taron.
Robbie went immediately to bed in her own room and stared at the ceiling, letting the joy wash over her, happy Taron was free and would be with her soon.
She dozed a bit and then heard the door open. Taron. His hair was damp, curling around his ears. He climbed beside Robbie onto the narrow bed and kissed her, and then wrapped his arms around her. And, before she knew it, he slept, snoring lightly. She let her arm curl around him. He didn’t move, sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. She, too, closed her eyes, thanking God for His wonderful blessings, and fell into a deep sleep.
Epilogue
The next afternoon, Robbie and Taron were on the bed, leaning against the wall. As happy as they were, as contented as she felt, Robbie knew they couldn’t stay here forever. Taron’s arm was draped over her as she snuggled on his chest.
“What now?” she asked.
“I guess I’ll go rustle up something to eat.”
“No. I mean we can’t stay here forever.”
“It’s up to you. We could go back to my ranch in Texas. Lots of folks in the area. You could practice your medicine there.”
She rose up to stare at him. “What do you mean? Practice medicine with a baby ...”
“A baby?”
Heat came to her cheeks. “I’m expecting.”
A smile spread on his face from ear to ear, and he kissed her tenderly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, telling you when you were on trial for murder didn’t seem right. And I only found out myself.”
Taron ran a thumb across his bottom lip and then shrugged. “A baby shouldn’t keep you from doing what you were trained to do. We can get a nanny, and I already have a housekeeper at the ranch.”
She frowned at him. “You have a housekeeper?”
“Yes. And you know, I bet Libby might make a good nanny, if she wants to go with us.”
“Nanny? We don’t have money for a nanny.”
“Oh? I thought I did. And since what’s mine is yours ...”
“Taron Babbitt, you’re teasing me.”
He laughed. “Don’t you want to be a doctor?”
“I want, more than anything, to be a wife and mother.”
“And you are my wife and you’ll be a wonderful mother.” He pulled her to him and kissed her tenderly and thoroughly. When he finally pulled away, he spoke again. “But Robbie ...”
“Yes?” Her voice was husky, as if it ached for something she could not yet imagine.
He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head. “You can be so much more.”
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Note from the Author, Abagail Eldan
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Pain comes to all. Cowboys rise above it.
WHEN ELIZABETH JAMES travels to east Texas, with plans to be the nanny to Robbie and Taron's children, Taron's irritating brother disturbs her happiness. Ander Babbitt hates Robbie and has stolen Taron's inheritance ... or so Libby thinks.
Her distrust of Ander leads to a foolish mistake.
When Libby walks down to the river, Ander informs her of how wrong she has been. Must she pack and move back home to her father or seek love in an unexpected way?
Only Ander holds the answer.
*Clean romance*
Excerpt from Libby and Ander
Texas Triad, Book 2
Abagail Eldan
Chapter One
LIBBY GLANCED AT ANDER lying stretched out in the back of the wagon, taking up most of the room. His hat covered his face, preventing him from viewing her disdain. Why wasn’t he riding his horse like his brother Taron?
Inste
ad, he was in here, taking up all the room. She sighed loudly, and he raised his shoulders, and lifted his hat a few inches. “Did you say something?”
She wanted to tell him exactly what she was thinking, that he needed to act like a man and, more importantly, a gentleman, and give her some privacy. But they still had miles to cover, and she was stuck with him. When she didn’t answer, only glared, he let his hat fall back over his face.
If Walter hadn’t decided to come with them, she could have joined Robbie on the wagon seat. But Walter was sitting beside her, not doing anything, for Robbie drove the wagon, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.
Libby grinned. Robbie, seven months pregnant, drove the wagon! And it didn’t faze Taron a bit for his wife to do so.
Libby at first had her own doubts, but Robbie had assured her no harm would come to the baby. And that’s why Libby traveled with them, because she would become full-time nanny to the baby. Robbie planned to set up a medical practice as soon as they reached their destination.
Libby marveled again at Taron. He fully supported his wife in all her endeavors. Men like that were as rare as hen’s teeth. Phhtt ... it didn’t even run in Taron’s family. His lazy brother never gave Robbie the respect she deserved, even though Robbie had saved his life!
Libby couldn’t fathom what his problem could be with his new sister-in-law. She sighed again deeply. If she had a pair of men’s britches, she’d get out of the wagon and ride alongside Taron.
Father would be appalled at her thoughts, and her heart constricted with a physical pang. She had not wanted to leave her father, but he had insisted. Of course, it had been her choice in the end. And it wasn’t as if she was leaving her father alone. Folks in their congregation loved and cared for him. Still, she ached when she thought of perhaps never seeing him again.
Grab you copy of Libby and Ander today!
Also check out Abby and Joshua.
Sometimes the force of a tornado pulls us from the mire,
but other times the soft breath of a cowboy is all that is required.
Robbie and Taron Page 7
