by Linda Broday
The weasel shrugged and went back out. The minute the door locked shut, Rayna slowly walked into Brett’s cell and sat down beside him again. “I wish I could see the sky and smell the fresh air.”
“How long have you been in here?”
“Over a month, I think. With each sunrise I’ve been making a mark on the wall. The one today makes thirty-one. But no matter how much I want out, I’m not doing what that deputy wants,” she whispered. “I’ll never be a fine lady, but even I have my dignity. No one will ever take that.”
Though still hesitant, Brett took her small, dainty hand. Her skin shone white against his. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched someone who wasn’t family, but his pretend wife was different somehow. “Always stand on your principles. In the end, we still have to live with ourselves, look at our faces in the mirror.”
“I know.”
The door opened again, and this time it was the doctor. Shuffling his feet, he ambled into the cell as though his shoes were two sizes too large and moving slow was the only way to keep them on. He carried a fresh pail of water.
“Our patient is looking better,” he said to Rayna.
“I kept watch over him like you asked. He still has a fever though.”
“I’ll check his wound, and we’ll change the bandage. Did he sleep and eat well enough?”
“I’m sitting right here, Doc. You don’t have to act like I’m not in the room,” Brett managed quietly.
The doctor stared at Brett like he’d just noticed him. “Indeed you are.” He set his bag and pail of water down beside the bunk. “My hands aren’t too steady, Rayna. Can you unwrap his bandage for me?”
“Yes, Doctor Perkins.” She moved back into Brett’s cell. He tensed when she stood in front of him.
Though they’d slept in the same bunk last night, this seemed different. The bandage had been a barrier of sorts between them. Now her fingers would be touching his bare skin. That was something wives did, he was sure—only not pretend ones.
She untied the muslin and began unwrapping all the strips. Feeling her sudden pause, he turned his head and saw that she was biting her lip.
“Doc, blood has seeped through, and the gauze is stuck.”
“You’ll have to loosen it by soaking. One thing we don’t want is to pull the wound and start it bleeding again,” Perkins said. “You can do it. I have faith in you, dear.”
Rayna went back to work. She got some water from the pail and began gently dabbing his back.
Other than the coolness of the water, he didn’t feel anything. No pulling, no stinging. But the minute her warm fingers touched his skin, he jumped. The brush of her hand was almost unbearable in its tenderness. His ragged breath was loud in his ears. He’d never known such gentleness.
The woman who excelled at picking pockets and giving to those in need had bestowed upon him a great prize, and she didn’t even know it.
*
Over the next few days, Brett regained some of his strength.
But the clock had started ticking again.
Each day brought him closer to the meeting with his Creator. Hammering and sawing commenced at daybreak and didn’t cease until dusk. The gallows would soon be ready, even though he had yet to see a trial.
At first he hadn’t taken the threat seriously. It seemed too unlikely that they’d hang an innocent man. Now, worry set in. His only hope was that the farmer would get word to Cooper and Rand. Yet he admitted that the chances of them arriving in time were slim.
He sat up with effort and glanced into Rayna’s cell, where the sheriff had again locked her after barring Doc Perkins from giving him any more medical treatment. It was difficult to see her without the lanterns that Oldham had taken away. In the shadows, he could barely make out her slight form.
Rayna Harper had been a bright spot in all this. She was an exceptional woman. Through the false bravado and blunt talk, he glimpsed the scared little girl inside of her. Beneath it all lay a fierce yearning to better her circumstances. She had such a big heart that she could no more stop herself from caring about others than she could sprout wings and fly.
Eyes adjusting to the shadows and gloom, he finally saw her with her eye pressed to the hole in the wall, looking out.
“It’s just about ready,” Rayna announced. “Won’t be long now. You need a miracle.”
Brett took the carved wooden heart from his pocket. The talisman had again failed to deliver good luck—not that he’d had any faith in it anyway. He believed in what he could see. “Looks like you’ll get my moccasins after all.”
She rose and gripped the bars separating them. “I never thought they’d really do it.” Her voice trembled.
“Makes two of us. Will you remember me, Rayna?”
“I’ll think of you every time I put those moccasins on. You’re really brave, Brett Liberty.”
He forced a tight smile. “I have no choice.”
Whether the credit for his bravery went to the blood of warriors in him or his years in the orphanage, Brett didn’t know. He only knew that when his time came, he’d not beg or cry out. It didn’t seem to serve much purpose. It wouldn’t change the end result. He wouldn’t show any weakness. He’d keep his honor as a man.
A key grated in the lock, and the squat deputy named Dingleby came through the outside door, bringing the stench of his unwashed body with him. He carried a tin plate.
“Rise and shine.” He bypassed Brett’s cell and slid the food under Rayna’s iron door. “Nothing for you, breed, on account of Sheriff Oldham saying we ain’t gonna feed you. It would be a waste, since you’re fixin’ to get your neck stretched an’ all.”
Brett stood to his full height and moved to his cell door. “Then I will see the judge today?”
“Nope.” The deputy hugged the earthen wall in an effort to get well out of range of Brett’s long arms. As he moved, his low-hanging holster slipped around his legs, tripping him. A silver pocket watch fell out. The weasel quickly raised the belt, gathered his watch, and hurried to the door. “Ain’t gonna be no judge an’ no trial. You ain’t a citizen of this country. You’re a savage, so we don’t have to.”
The slamming of the iron door echoed in Brett’s head. Not a citizen? He’d been raised with whites, had white brothers. He didn’t know any of the ways of his own people, how to speak their language, or any of their customs. He didn’t even know to which tribe he belonged. He doubted they’d want him either.
Maybe they’d also put him to death for being born.
Rayna handed a piece of bread through the bars. “Take this, Brett. I’ll share what I have.”
“You eat it, Rayna. I’ll be fine.” He slowly returned to his bunk.
No judge. No trial. No hope.
The old woman at the orphanage who’d given him the name Liberty should’ve had her head examined. There was none to be had for people like him.
*
Gnawing worry had chewed Cooper Thorne’s gut for the last sixty miles. Something bad had happened to Brett. He never took this long delivering a string of horses.
“Are you sure he would’ve come this way, Coop?” Rand Sinclair swiveled in the saddle.
“He told me he had a horse to deliver to a man near Walnut Springs. He wanted to go a different route.” Cooper stood in the stirrups, stretching his legs. “You know our brother’s need to avoid people.”
“I do indeed.” Rand chuckled. “He’ll go an extra hundred miles just so he won’t have to talk to anyone.”
They rode on in silence. Finally they came to a farm in a little valley. A man looked up as they approached the house.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” he said, rising from where he was working on the well pulley.
Cooper dismounted. “I hope so. I’m the sheriff over in Battle Creek, and I’m looking for my brother. He’s tall and wears moccasins. Name’s Brett Liberty.”
“Oh, you must be talking about the half-breed.” The farmer took a bandanna from around
his neck and wiped his forehead.
Rand pushed his way forward. “Have you seen him?”
“He came this way. Nice enough sort. He was shot, bleeding something awful. The sheriff took him to Steele’s Hollow. Your brother asked me to tell you that if you stopped by.”
“Who shot him?” Cooper’s brain tried to digest it all.
“Reckon it was Sheriff Oldham.”
“Why?”
“He hates Indians. Thinks the only good one is a dead one.”
Cooper touched the brim of his hat and turned toward his horse. Rand did the same.
“Reckon you’d best hurry,” said the farmer.
“Why’s that?” Rand put his foot in the stirrup.
“My neighbor said they’re gonna hang him.”
“Hang him? What for?” Hot anger swept through Cooper.
Rand let loose a string of cusswords. “Don’t tell us. The sheriff hates Indians.”
The farmer spat on the ground. “Yep.”
Cooper vaulted into the saddle. Rebel danced around in a circle and sidestepped for a minute until Cooper gained control of the animal. Of all times to be skittish.
“Better hurry,” the man repeated. “Gonna hang him today. A real shame. Your brother promised me five of his best horses if I told you where he was.”
“You’ll get your horses no matter what, mister,” Rand said, slapping the hindquarters of his horse with his hat.
Steele’s Hollow. The name struck Cooper Thorne with cold, paralyzing fear. That sheriff had some explaining to do, and Cooper meant to do some reckoning.
No one would hang Brett Liberty.
*
The longer the day wore on, the tighter the knot in Brett’s stomach clenched. His jagged, raw nerves jumped each time the hundred-pound sack of flour fell through the trapdoor in a test run.
He’d long forgotten the hunger he’d felt upon waking that morning. His fingers rubbed the smooth wooden heart Rayna had given him as he lay on his bunk waiting, staring…hoping.
His heightened senses heard every sound, felt every shift in Rayna’s mood. She was being unusually quiet, and at times the sound of sniffling drifted into his cell.
“Pretend husband,” she whispered now, “I just wanted to say you remind me of my brother, Hershel. He was older than me by several years. No one more capable and sure ever lived.” She sighed. “I really miss him. My brother looked out for me.”
He got painfully to his feet and padded to the bars. “What happened to him?”
“Hershel got into a fight with a stinking buffalo hunter. Over me. One night my father gave me to this man in exchange for a jug of corn liquor. My brother came after us. The buffalo hunter killed Hershel, knifed him in the back.”
“I’m sorry,” Brett said quietly. “How long ago?” Wanting to comfort but unsure how, he touched her face with a tentative fingertip and lightly traced the line of her jaw.
“About a year, I’d say. We buried Hershel in a desolate spot on the prairie. After that, I told Papa that I was sleeping with a knife. If anybody came near me, I’d kill ’em and then him.”
“Where is your mother?”
“Don’t know. She just wasn’t there one day. My father told me he left her in the rough town of Mobeetie, Texas. Said she refused to go another step. I didn’t believe him though. He lies. Do you have any family, Brett?”
“Two brothers, Cooper and Rand. And I recently found out I have a sister, or a woman claiming to be my sister anyway.” Brett didn’t know what to think about that. He was afraid to put too much stock in the letter she’d sent.
None of that mattered now. If she came, she’d find him below ground. Maybe she’d visit his grave…if they saw fit to do that much for a half-breed. Likely they’d drag him out into a field and let the buzzards feast on him.
“What time do you think it is, Rayna?”
“Early afternoon, I think.”
“I never got to kiss you.”
“You can now,” she said softly.
Just once before he died, he’d taste her lips. He lowered his head and gently pressed his mouth to hers. Despite the cold iron bars, the feeling that rushed through his body took his breath. A hunger rose up so strong it left him weak and trembling. Heat pooled in his belly and spread through his body like nothing he’d felt before.
Did she have these feelings too?
Brett raised his head, silently cursing his inexperience and lack of knowledge about such things. If only he had time to figure things…her…out.
“Thank you. I’m ready to die now.”
“Don’t say that,” she cried.
They broke apart when the iron door swung open. Sheriff Oldham strode to Brett’s cell and unlocked it. “Let’s go, breed.”
The sand in the hourglass had run out.
Brett silently turned and picked up his shirt.
“Don’t need that,” Oldham barked. “Men like you don’t get to die with dignity.”
The words cut through Brett like a knife. With great effort, he pulled his shirt over his head anyway and adjusted his hat on his head. “No one can steal my dignity. Not you or anyone. It’s mine to keep.”
Brett swung to the bars separating him from Rayna. He took her hand and pressed the heart into her palm. “You can use this. I hope it brings you better luck.” Without turning, he spoke to Oldham. “See that she gets my moccasins.”
Rayna angrily dashed away the tears streaming down her face. “I’ll pray.”
“Save it. Those don’t do any good either.” Brett gently caressed her cheek again with his finger.
The deputy entered and murmured something low to Oldham.
Brett took advantage of their turned backs. “Do you mind if I kiss you once more?”
When she shook her head, he lowered his mouth and pressed his lips to hers between the cold steel bars.
The tremble of her lips beneath his spoke of her struggle to keep from crying. Mixed with the salt of her tears was a hint of the berry jam the deputy had brought her for breakfast along with the chunk of bread she’d tried to offer Brett.
As with the first, the kiss sent a wave of tenderness through him that shook him to the core.
Taking one step back, he stared at her, wondering if it had been real. “Thank you, Rayna. Think of me with kindness.”
The deputy cursed, trudging back toward the office. With a huff of annoyance, the sheriff shifted his focus back to Brett. “What the hell?” Oldham jerked Brett’s arms behind him and snapped on the handcuffs. “What’s been happening in here anyway?”
Brett fought down nausea that came with the pain. No doubt the vicious yanking had opened his wound. He glared at the sheriff. “You harm her, and you’ll pay. She’s innocent.”
The hate-filled sheriff laughed. “You’ll do nothing, because you’ll be dead, rotten half-breed.”
“I have two brothers, and they don’t take kindly to anyone who hurts a woman. They’ll gladly do what I can’t.”
Without another word, the sheriff yanked him to the heavy iron door. Pain knifed Brett’s body and spread downward. He suppressed a groan and looked back for one last glimpse of the wife he could never have who’d offered kindness and a gift he’d carry to the beyond.
Four
Once in the outer office, Brett stared at the faces of the deputies. Their eyes glittered with hate, except for an older man whose thick white mustache drooped like Brett’s hopes.
The man stepped forward. “Sheriff, the storm that’s been threatening just blew in. We can’t hang this man in the driving rain.”
Sheriff Oldham shot a glance out the window at the deluge and vented his frustration. “For two cents I’d go ahead with it, but I reckon everyone’s already scurried inside like a bunch of lily-livered chickens, afraid a drop of rain will dampen their hair. Maybe Dingleby has the right idea. Put a bullet in his damn head and be done with the matter.”
Another deputy spoke. “You do that, and we’ll have a bigger probl
em. There’s the prisoner’s brothers to consider. If we hang him, at least we can claim some legal right.”
Oldham spat a string a curses. “Reckon you get a reprieve, breed. Someone take him back to his cell.”
The mustached man stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”
Seconds later, the old deputy opened Brett’s cell door and removed the handcuffs. Brett thanked him.
“I don’t hold with Sheriff Oldham’s views,” the jailor said. “He’s eaten up with hate. My brother took a Comanche wife and had some kids. I got nothing against them. Would you like me to rustle you up something to eat? A piece of bread if nothing else?”
Brett rubbed his wrists. “I don’t want to make trouble between you and your boss. I’ll understand if you don’t return.”
The old jailor gave a short nod, then locked Brett’s cell and strolled back into the office.
Rayna clutched the bars separating them and held out the carved wooden heart. “I knew your luck would change. You should take the charm back.”
Shaking his head, he chuckled. “Fortune smiled on me only after I gave it to you. You keep it. Besides, at this rate, we’re going to rub off any luck the token may have passing it back and forth.”
“Maybe it was the kisses that swung things to your favor. My brother Hershel once told me that kisses are full of magic. Maybe this is what he meant.” Wonderment colored her voice. “We should do it again. Just to see all the magic that comes out, of course.”
The dimness hid the color of her eyes, but he suspected they were the shade of bluebonnets kissed by the morning rain.
He didn’t believe in magic or good luck charms, but he sure wasn’t going to pass up another chance to kiss the woman who’d shown him so much gentleness. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”
With the bars between them, he was unable to do more than lightly caress her lips, but the contact shook him nonetheless. As much as the bars allowed, he drank in Rayna’s sweetness, her innocence. This time, his movements were more confident.
Blood pounded in his ears as it sped through his body like his galloping wild horses. The depth of passion and hunger rocked him. He didn’t know about magic, but this was more powerful than anything he’d ever felt. When the kiss ended, Brett stared at Rayna in wonder.
