by Joyce Alec
“The sheriff won’t believe your lies,” Martin spat angrily, entirely uncertain as to the man’s motives. “You’ve got nothing to do with this, whoever you are.”
“Peters, if that’s what you’re wondering,” the man replied with a wide smile. “The name’s Peters. David Peters, and yes, I do have something to do with this. You see, I like this here farm. I worked hard, although I never got to run the place. I’ve got nowhere else to go, and I sure don’t want to have to start over.” He chuckled as Martin took a step forward, waving away the threat of the gun with a lazy gesture. “I reckon I’ll be staying on here, making sure to keep things going. Else I’ll have to go tell the sheriff that I saw poor Mrs. Jackson finding herself a pistol and shooting old Adler dead, before trying to ride off back to town.” Tilting his head just a little, his grin grew wider as he saw Martin’s frustration. “I don’t reckon the sheriff will easily ignore an eye witness now, will he? And if you try and defend her, then you’re gonna have to tell the sheriff exactly what it was you were doing that night, too. You can take your chances, of course, but you might end up looking like you were in on it with her!” He chuckled, shaking his head as though astonished at just how clever he was. “Just think of it now,” he said and laughed, his eyes gleaming. “A mail-order bride marries someone else and then makes an agreement with the man she was supposed to marry. A man who wants this farm, who wants the herds and the land and all that goes with it. Now, of course, it can be yours. All you gotta do is marry the lady—but you won’t do that for a while, not until there’s no suspicions being raised.” Picking up his hat from the bed, Peters put it on at a jaunty angle and eyed Martin gleefully. “I reckon you’re as stuck as you can get, Martin Armstrong. Now, how about you let me stay on? After all, this is gonna be where I’m living and I’d much appreciate it if you’d let me carry on with things here. Go on, now. Off you go. Go tell Reuben Drummond that you’ve decided to let me stay on. It’ll be good practice for when you tell Mrs. Jackson.”
Martin felt himself go numb, starting from his feet and rising up all through him. He had no reason to defend Jessie, but something in him refused to turn around and tell Peters that he could do whatever he liked. The way Jessie had looked at him that night, the fear in her eyes and terror on her face forced him to think twice before speaking. Besides which, despite what he’d said to Reuben and despite the reluctance in his own heart, he had to admit that these last two weeks, he’d begun to look forward to the time he got to spend with Jessie.
“I can’t just let you stay on here,” he replied sharply, as Peters meandered past him into the main part of the house. “You can’t just carry on working at the farm because you want to.”
David Peters rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. “You have to understand, Martin, I don’t want to hurt Mrs. Jackson in any way—I just really enjoy working here. Finally, I get the chance to run the farm the way I want, to get the pay I deserve for being the man in charge of it all.” He grinned, lifting one shoulder. “And besides all that, I’ll end up being a help to Mrs. Jackson, whether she knows it or not.” A mysterious smile pulled at his lips. “This farm needs looking after and what with you being busy with your own ranch, I’ll be needed here.”
Martin shook his head. “That’s not how this works. Jessie—Mrs. Jackson—will be hiring all new workers.”
“And you’ll be helping her, I reckon,” Peters replied. “Just make sure you put me in charge, then. It won’t be all that difficult. Then you and Mrs. Jackson will be just fine, I swear it. I won’t be telling the sheriff that I saw you both that night, that I heard you telling her to throw your gun into the sand. The gun you—or she—used to shoot Adler, whichever one I decide to go with if I talk to the sheriff.”
A trickle of sweat ran down Martin’s spine. Somehow, out there in the dark, David Peters had been following either himself or Jessie. Somehow, he’d heard Martin tell Jessie to throw his gun into the sand, which he’d only done to try and reassure her.
“Don’t you have anything you want to say, Armstrong?”
There was nothing Martin could say in response to this, nothing he could do to stop the man from carrying out his threat. It was obvious that Peters was used to doing whatever he had to in order to get what he wanted, and that he was easily able to outwit Martin when it came to blackmail. Martin didn’t know what to do, standing there in the farmhouse with a gun in his hand and absolutely no response whatsoever.
He could, of course, tell Peters that he wasn’t going to be a part of it and risk the consequences that would follow. The problem was that he wasn’t about to do that to Jessie, not when she was in the state she was in and also because he was, if he was honest, a little bit afraid of what would happen should the sheriff find out what he’d really been doing that night. The truth was that Adler hadn’t been a good man, but since he was dead and gone, it would only be Martin’s word as proof.
He should have made changes a long time ago; he should have made certain that his animals were branded in a way that could leave no doubt that they were his. Then this situation might never have happened.
“Martin?”
He turned to see Reuben stepping into the house, frowning at the sight of David Peters now leaning lazily against the table.
“Who’s this?” Reuben asked, moving quickly towards Martin.
“I’m not causing no trouble,” Peters said hastily, lifting his hands in a gesture of self-defense. “You can ask him. He’ll back me up.”
Martin frowned but shook his head. “There’s nothing to worry about, Reuben. This is David Peters. He’s convinced me that he’s gonna stay on for a bit. Help look after the place.”
Reuben’s expression grew dark. “Is that so?”
Nodding, Martin thrust his gun back into his belt. “Come on. We need to go check the rest of the place. Peters,”—he turned and held the man’s steely gaze—“I’ll be back to talk to you soon.”
Peters grinned. “There ain’t no rush,” he replied easily. “Thanks for your time, Armstrong.”
Walking out of the house into the warm sunshine, Martin let out his breath slowly, feeling as though he’d let himself down somehow. This was not the kind of man he was. He was honest and true, making sure that he always did what was right. This wasn’t right or good, even though, somehow, he felt as though he were protecting Jessie. His heart grew heavy, aware that it wasn’t just Jessie he was protecting, but also himself. He had taken it upon himself to go and sort things out with Adler, without Adler even being aware he was doing it. Of course, he could have gone straight to the sheriff when it had all begun, but given how angry Martin had been with Adler about Jessie, the sheriff would most likely have struggled to believe him over Adler—at least, that was what Martin had told himself.
“What’s going on, Martin?”
Martin rubbed his eyes, dropping his head as he struggled to come up with some sort of explanation. “We’re not gonna manage running this place ourselves, Reuben.”
“That wasn’t what you said before now,” Reuben replied at once, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What is it that Peters said to you? You came out here telling me to make sure every single man had gone from the place and now we’re heading on back and leaving Peters behind?” He shook his head, evidently angry with what he’d seen. “That’s not like you, Martin. What happened?”
Closing his eyes, Martin shook his head, coming to a stop. “He’s made it plain that if he’s not allowed to run this farm, then he’ll make things bad for Jessie.” He didn’t mention a word about his own troubles, seeing Reuben’s suspicion fade away. “He says he was here the night Adler got shot. Says he’ll tell the sheriff that it was her that shot him, before trying to ride off into the night.”
“But that’s a lie,” Reuben stated, now looking confused. “And the sheriff has got no reason to believe him, surely.”
Martin let out a long, slow breath, not quite sure what to tell Reuben. “The truth is, Reuben, there was
a gun that night,” he admitted slowly.
Reuben’s mouth fell open.
“It wasn’t the one that shot Adler,” Martin continued hurriedly, “but if Peters tells the sheriff what he thinks, then he might come asking questions.” He shook his head, feeling the heavy weight of uncertainty sitting on his shoulders. “I’m afraid for myself and for her, Reuben. If I don’t let Peters carry on here, then he might easily make out that Jessie’s the guilty one.”
“Or that you shot him and then threw the gun away,” Reuben murmured, his eyes filled with anger and frustration. “But that don’t mean you can let him blackmail you, Martin.”
Heaviness sank into his stomach. “I don’t know what to say, Reuben. I could defend myself easily enough if I had to, since the sheriff’s known me for a good long while, but he don’t know Jessie all that well. There’s a chance that if Peters tells the sheriff what he saw, then the sheriff might think she’s guilty. It’ll be a hanging, Reuben.”
Reuben whistled through his teeth, shaking his head. “That man ain’t nothing more than a rogue, Martin. We ought to—”
“We can’t do nothing,” Martin replied firmly. “I gotta protect Jessie.”
Turning to face him, Reuben spread his hands. “You don’t think Jessie shot Adler, do you? Then dropped the gun and rode away?”
“No, of course not,” Martin stated with feeling. “There’s no way she’d managed to shoot a man stone dead, especially not in the dark. The way she was shaking meant she wasn’t even able to stand up!”
“Then you can just tell the sheriff all that,” Reuben replied with a shrug. “This Peters fellow, the sheriff don’t even know him. He knows you, don’t he? You’ve been a part of this town for a long time, and everyone knows you’re a good man. Adler, well… didn’t you hear folk saying how sorry they felt for Jessie when she first arrived, getting taken in by his pretenses? There ain’t a single person in Copper Peaks who thinks that Adler was a good sort.”
Martin closed his eyes, his jaw working hard as he battled his fears. He hadn’t told another living soul what he’d been doing, or what Adler had done to him aside from taking Jessie, and he wasn’t going to start now. So long as he could keep what had happened to him that night to himself, then everything would be just fine.
“It’s too much of a risk,” he argued, opening his eyes and seeing Reuben frown again. “I can’t do it, Reuben, not when Jessie’s in the state she’s in now. It ain’t right. I can’t let her be troubled by this.” Shrugging, he continued walking back towards the horses. “And who knows, maybe Peters will be able to run this place just as well as he thinks.”
Reuben snorted with disdain. “Or he’ll try and blackmail you again, Martin. I’m surprised to hear this from you. That’s not the sort of thing I thought you’d ever agree to.” His eyes narrowed, and he looked sideways at him. “You sure you don’t have more than just ‘concern’ for Jessie riding through that heart of yours? That would be one explanation for it.”
Shaking his head, Martin reached his horse and unhitched the reins before pulling himself up into the saddle. “Don’t start thinking I’m falling for her, Reuben. I’m not that sort of man. Especially not after what she chose to do to me.”
“Now, I know you’re not the kind to hold a grudge,” Reuben replied, reproach sticking to his every word. “Come on, now, Martin, don’t go on denying it. If you feel something, even the smallest thing, for Jessie, then don’t ignore it. There’s no shame in it.”
For a moment, Martin’s mind flashed back to how Jessie had clung to him as he’d helped her to bed, how she’d whispered that he could stay in the house—evidence that she’d found herself able to trust him. His heart lifted, warmth spreading through his chest at the memory, entirely unable to forget the way her eyes had fixed on his, looking at him as though he were her savior.
“It’s not like that,” he said defensively as Reuben grinned knowingly. “I just don’t want her to suffer any more than she already has.”
“If you say so,” Reuben replied breezily, before spurring his horse into a gallop and heading back to town.
7
“I’m afraid to say, Mrs. Jackson, that I have not found anyone owning up to the shooting of your husband.”
Jessie looked up at the sheriff, steeling herself for what was to come. It had been two weeks now since the occurrence, and while the sheriff had never directly said that he believed it to be outright murder, she knew that was what everyone was thinking.
“Someone shot your husband dead, without explanation or reason,” the sheriff continued gruffly. “I have to tell you, Mrs. Jackson—”
“Jessie, please,” she interrupted, hating the sound of her late husband’s name.
The sheriff looked surprised for a moment, before nodding. “Jessie—I’m sorry to say that your husband has been unlawfully killed. Someone shot at him twice, hitting him first in the shoulder and then in the heart. It wasn’t as though it was in defense or the like, given that it was the dead of night and the only light came from the lanterns the men carried when they were trying to find you. It is my duty to find out who did it, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Jessie replied, feeling a good deal steadier than she had in some days. “I just want to bring this whole thing to an end and get on with my life.”
The sheriff eyed her a little uneasily. “You’ve been completely honest with me, Jessie?”
She nodded, hating that she’d held one or two things back from him but knowing that it was for the best. She’d never once mentioned the fact that Martin had pulled the gun from his belt and told her to throw it away, worrying that the sheriff would think that Martin was somehow involved in Adler’s death. It wasn’t an important detail, she’d reasoned, choosing to keep it entirely to herself. Martin hadn’t said anything about it, although they’d not talked about it between themselves either. She didn’t even know whether or not Martin had gone out to find his gun in the sand, praying silently that he had done so. The last thing she wanted was for the sheriff to find a gun near Martin’s ranch, worrying silently that it might put the blame onto him.
On top of that, she’d also told the sheriff that Martin had come riding up to her at the same time as she’d heard the gunshots. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough to it. She didn’t want there to be any question about Martin’s actions that night.
“And you’ve told me about all the folk you saw that night?” the sheriff asked again, looking at her steadily. “There’s nothing else?”
“I don’t reckon so, Sheriff,” Jessie replied quietly. “I just don’t know what else to tell you.”
“And you’re not upset by his death?” the sheriff pressed, watching her keenly.
A spurt of anger tore through her chest. “I’ve already told you, Sheriff, that Adler Jackson was a cruel, mean-hearted man, who did nothing more than threaten me into doing whatever he wanted.” Her anger gave her strength, letting her voice the truth without holding her back. “I don’t mourn him, and I sure won’t grieve for him. The funeral’s done, and I don’t plan on remembering him again. Don’t expect me to be sitting here crying for him, Sheriff. I don’t plan on shedding a single tear.”
Where that explosion of words had come from, Jessie wasn’t quite sure. She’d obviously surprised the sheriff, who was staring at her as though she’d just told him that she’d been the one to kill Adler, his face slowly turning a deep shade of red.
Jessie felt a small amount of pride coursing through her veins, surprised with herself that she’d managed to find the strength to state the truth to the sheriff without holding a thing back. She lifted her chin, wondering if it had come from the new sense of freedom she’d found creeping over her the last few days. Without Adler around, it felt as though she’d been able to start life over again, even though whoever murdered him had committed a terrible crime. It felt wrong, in a way, to be so free, to be so at ease, when she knew that her hus
band’s life had been taken from him in such a cruel, evil way, and yet she could not help the feeling.
“I do, of course, want whoever shot him to be caught,” she finished as the sheriff made to get up from his chair. “I don’t want you to think that I’m glad about how he died, Sheriff. I just can’t bring myself to mourn his passing.”
The sheriff let out a long breath, sighed heavily, and put his hat back on his head. “You ain’t the only one that feels that way, Jessie,” he admitted wearily. “Adler had upset, stolen from, or tricked almost everyone in this town, you included. I understand what you mean when you say you won’t mourn him. I can’t think of a single soul who’ll be sorry he’s gone. But, as you say, I gotta do my duty and find out the truth. It don’t matter what I think of him or what he did, Adler didn’t deserve to die that way.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Jessie replied, getting up from her chair and managing to put a small smile on her face, letting the fear that she’d spoken out of turn fade away from her. “Thank you for understanding. I really do appreciate it.”
The sheriff nodded and walked towards the door, only for someone to knock from outside. With a nod from Jessie, the sheriff let them in, and to Jessie’s surprise, she saw Martin standing there outside the door.
“Martin,” the sheriff muttered, touching his hat. “Everything all right?”
“Everything’s just fine,” Martin replied with a slightly strained smile. “I’ve just come back from Adler’s—I mean, Jessie’s—farm. Thought I’d tell her what’s been happening out that way.”
The sheriff nodded and excused himself, leaving Jessie and Martin standing alone together in the house.
“Martin,” Jessie began, feeling a slow flush of heat creep up her neck and infuse into her cheeks. “Come in, please.” In the last two weeks, she’d seen Martin almost every day. He’d been with her when she’d first spoken to the sheriff, had helped her to work through everything that had happened that terrible night, and then, when she’d tentatively sought his help, had agreed to help her with the farm out of the goodness of his heart.
