by Bella Bowen
She searched his eyes for a moment, probably looking for some trace of the man who had written those journals, but she didn’t find what she was looking for. He was finished baring his soul. He was finished playing into her hands.
Finally, she turned and opened the door. He was surprised there wasn’t an audience waiting.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Carnegie,” he said as she stepped into the hallway. “When the judge rules that the ranch is mine, I’m sure the sabotage will stop.” Then he closed the door. He didn’t care if he sounded guilty of setting both fires.
He simply didn’t care.
And the only reason why there were tears in his eyes a few minutes later was because he had been a little rough scrubbing the taste of her off his lips.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Gen came back to town at two o’clock that afternoon. She wasn’t about to arrive early and spend any more time in the make-shift courtroom with Devlin Zollinger than strictly necessary. And it was always more fashionable for a woman to arrive a little late, especially when she wanted to make a dramatic entrance.
Perhaps Devlin entertained the hope that he’d frightened her away with a few rough kisses and harsh words. Watching his face fall with disappointment when she walked into the hearing would be satisfying indeed.
The townsfolk milling around the hotel looked mighty relieved when Fontaine drove the carriage up to the steps. And there were more than a few who seemed to disapprove of her tardiness. But she just smiled and nodded the brim of her hat in a few directions before she calmly walked into the hotel as if she was meeting someone for tea.
She paused just inside the parlor doors and waited for the men to notice her. Because gentlemen should be given every opportunity to be gentlemen, she waited for them all to stand before moving forward. She sought out Devlin first so she might revel in his disappointment, but the man looked positively relieved to see her.
She wondered if it was a lack of sleep the night before that had her head so muddled she couldn’t understand. Then she remembered that the old man had been murdered that morning, and perhaps he was worried something foul had befallen her since she’d left his room at Mrs. Kennedy’s.
It wasn’t because he cared for her, of course. Even if the old Devlin had surfaced while they’d kissed in his room, he’d disappeared before their lips parted ways for good. The author of those journals had been replaced by a different man altogether.
Perhaps if she’d come back a few years earlier…
Freddy introduced her to the judge who offered a small bow. She was then introduced to Devlin’s lawyer, who bent a bit from the waist and nodded coolly. He appeared clean-shaven and freshly bathed, but he sported a crown of sweat across his brow and wiped at it regularly. He inspired little confidence, but his smile was smug as he turned from her.
She nearly felt sorry for Devlin.
The judge banged his gavel on the table and announced the hearing was in session. A young man sitting at a small table to the left scribbled away each time anyone spoke.
Being the wife of a politician for nearly eight years, Gen had been exposed to enough of Parliamentary Rules of Order that the monotony of having every detail and motion debated until agreed upon created a knot in her stomach. And they’d only agreed to proceed.
Added to that, she felt a little ill about what she was about to do—take a man’s property out from under him like a rug from beneath his feet. But she would have never known a moment’s guilt had she not found the journals…and if Devlin had never kissed her. She had to remember that. She had to remember why she’d come in the first place.
He should have never sent her away; the ranch was hers.
What had he been thinking to…press her against the door and kiss her senseless? Had he finally decided to fight for his ranch? And thought to accomplish it by winning a place in her bed? It wasn’t going to work. Especially since he was no longer the Devlin she’d fallen in love with.
It wrenched her heart each and every time she’d dared admit how she’d felt about him. And after a while, she couldn’t bear to allow the thought into her head anymore. But it had always been there, in the back of her mind, waiting for her to weaken.
And that’s what his kisses had done—they’d weakened her, but only momentarily. Yes, he might have seduced her. But she’d suspected what he was about, and she’d been able to resist—after she’d taken one last taste of him.
If he’d been cleverer, he might have convinced her he was sincere, and there was no telling where a few gentle kisses might have taken them.
She shuddered from the chills rolling up and down her body and turned her attention back to the business at hand. The space behind her ears tingled and tempted her to turn and gaze upon him, but she disregarded it.
Judge Van Fleet was summarizing what he’d already learned, and her heart jumped when he referred to her as Devlin’s sister.
She reached over and tugged on Freddy’s coat sleeve, then whispered to him when he leaned close. “I’m not his sister. I’m his sister-in-law.”
“They are all but the same thing, my dear. In England, they are revisiting the issue, so perhaps high societal perceptions will change here as well. Eventually.”
Eventually.
Eventually, she and Devlin might be able to wed and not be frowned upon. But how long would that be? It was impossible to tell what one town in the West could stomach, and next would not. But the widow of Bartholomew Carnegie didn’t have the luxury to ignore polite society—not if she relied on that society to help make her enterprise a success. And she would never allow dear Bartie’s name to be dragged in the mud on her account.
It was all moot, of course, because Devlin didn’t want her anymore. And she wasn’t about to admit that she wanted him and always had. Although the way she’d returned his kiss probably told him as much.
The judge asked who was currently in possession of the ranch. “In other words, who current resides at Diamond Springs?
Freddy stood. “My client, your honor.”
Devlin’s Mr. Atwood stood. “I would like to point out, your honor, that my client occupied the ranch until last week when Mrs. Carnegie and her…women…took the ranch by force.”
The judge dropped his chin and gave Mr. Atwood a dirty look. “You expect the court to believe that, Mr. Atwood?”
“I do, your honor. And I have over a dozen witnesses willing to swear to that fact.”
The next hour brought a parade of foremen who, when pressed by Freddy, could only testify that someone rang the bell and the workers collected their horses and left. Then two dozen women rode onto the place and told them they were wanted in town, and that the women were going to make an attempt at holding down the fort until they returned. But once they all got clear of the gate, shots were fired over their heads.
“Shots were fired,” the judge repeated. “Did anyone see who fired those shots?”
All witnesses admitted they hadn’t seen the women at the gate fire at them. But the sounds came from their general direction.
“So no force was used to actually get you to leave the property?”
They all agreed there was not and, one by one, skulked out of the room.
“Do you have anything further, Mr. Atwood?”
“Yes, your honor. I have the will of the previous owner, David Heathrow Zollinger, signed and witnessed on the twentieth day of May, 1840. It should be noted that Mr. Zollinger died one week later, making it quite unlikely that he would have written any wills afterward. Also, to our knowledge, there were no wills that pre-dated this one.”
Gen sat straight and sucked as much air into her corset without being too obvious about it.
Devlin had a will?
No wonder he hadn’t been fighting very hard to get his ranch back.
Without looking her way, Freddy reached discreetly for her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. But she’d known better than to react. And she knew better than to look at Devlin who was probably at th
at moment suppressing the urge to jump up and down.
Gen concentrated on sitting still while the judge and both lawyers examined the will, discussed the witnesses, and took a look at other documents that had been signed by David. Then, after agreeing that the will was valid, the lawyers stood back while the judge read it.
“Says here he’s leaving the entire ranch and all his estate to his brother, Devlin Heathrow Zollinger.” The judge looked over the tops of his spectacles in her direction.
She returned his look with a hopeful smile. He didn’t look impressed.
“There is no provision given for his widow?” he asked Atwood.
“No, your honor. But be that as it may, my client gifted his sister with—”
“Sister-in-law,” Devlin growled.
“Atwood’s eyes widened briefly before he corrected himself. “My client gifted his sister-in-law with a generous dowry and transportation back to New York so she could return to her family.”
“Did he indeed?” The judge laughed. “It seems she was unhappy with the amount, then doesn’t it?” They all laughed a moment, then the judge cleared his throat and assumed a more professional demeanor. “I assume you have some sort of rebuttal, Mr. Reynolds?”
“Indeed I do, your honor. If it please the court, I too have an exhibit to introduce.” Freddy turned to Mr. Autumn and took a large envelope from the man. He slid a document from inside and held it with two hands. “I have here another will and testament of one David Heathrow Zollinger. Signed and witnessed, oddly enough, by the same two individuals.”
A quick glance to her right. Devlin was on his feet.
Surprise, surprise.
The judge’s eyebrows jumped nearly off the top of his head. “And what is the date of this one?” He held out a hand and motioned both attorneys forward.
Freddy hesitated. Gen took a deep breath, then let it slip silently away.
“The twentieth day of May, 18…40.”
~ ~ ~
The attorneys bent over the judges table. Their voices were low. Gen only heard a word or two, and the conversation droned on. She avoided looking to her right again, but it wasn’t easy when she knew full well Devlin was staring at her. The feeling was entirely familiar. She’d sensed it for seven years.
Finally, she took a bracing breath and turned. She’d expected at least a glare from the man who must have thought he had the case won. But he gave her a little grimace of a smile. He pitied her. But why?
It was she who pitied him, but only because she knew the judge would find for her. Was it possible the man still believed he would win?
What did he know that she didn’t?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
For the last two years since she’d started planning her return to the Wyoming Territory—after losing dear Bartie, she’d been confident in her preparation. She might have been nervous boarding the train in New York, and practically nauseated when she’d exited her coach and walked toward the Hangman’s Tower. But until that moment, she’d never doubted.
And she absolutely hated doubting.
For seven years, she’d doubted her place at David’s side, then doubted Devlin had ever cared about her if he was so intent on sending her away. But she’d arrived back in New York a different, determined woman. The long journey had given her just enough time to dry her tears, sew up the rents in her heart, and vow never to allow others to make her doubt herself again.
Ever.
It had been that determination which had first attracted Bartholomew Carnegie’s interest. So in fact, she owed Devlin a great deal for shooing her off the ranch and toward that transformation, though she didn’t see the need to thank him.
She gave him a little frown for shaking her confidence, then turned away, content to study the beads on her reticule while she waited for the debate to end.
The longer they debated, the more nervous she became. She counted every blasted bead twice to make certain she’d counted them correctly the first time. Five hundred seventy-four. She’d just started yet again, intending to tally the pearls separately, when she realized her lips moved as she counted, and it was quite likely Devlin and the rest might believe she was desperately praying the rosary, so she stopped.
Her sigh was a bit more audible than intended, but it seemed to have an effect on the lawyers. They ended their discussion nearly mid-sentence. Judge Van Fleet waved them away toward their own tables and eased back in his chair.
There was no guessing his thoughts; his face was entirely unreadable. She didn’t care for the fact that his gaze seemed to be avoiding her side of the room in his musings. She was very nearly tempted to sigh again when the man finally gave a nod and opened his mouth to speak.
“This court has little choice in the matter before it.” He glanced at Gen, then at Devlin. “Having been presented with two different wills, dated the same day, with the same witnesses—and those witnesses no longer in the Wyoming Territory—I am left to assume that one of these wills is a forgery. I have examined the documents available to me that bear the handwriting and signatures known to belong to David Zollinger, and I have made my conclusions.”
Forgery? Gen’s mind was numb. Forgery was no small crime. Was he about to send her to jail? To hang her? She’d bought his wife a bloody curricle, for heaven’s sake!
She took and breath and it stuck inside her lungs. All she could do was hope he came to the point quickly before she fainted.
“This court hereby rules that the will supplied by Mr. Reynolds on behalf of Mrs. Carnegie…was indeed signed by her late husband. The will supplied by Mr. Atwood on behalf of his client, Devlin Zollinger, is ruled a forgery. Mr. Zollinger is to be taken into custody to stand trial for the crime, and Mr. Atwood is found in contempt of court until such time as it is proven he had no hand in attempting to deceive this court.” He lifted his gavel—
“No!” Gen found herself on her feet with that one stuck breath now reverberating in her ears and possibly every other ear in the room. She’d practiced that scream hundreds of times in her nightmares when she’d watched Devlin led to the steps of Hangman’s Tower. Only this time, it wasn’t a nightmare. And if she couldn’t wake up from it, she had to keep it from happening in the first place.
The judge gave her a look of warning before lowering his gavel to lay it sideways on the table. Then he folded his fingers in front of him and smiled patiently.
“You wish to address this court, Mrs. Carnegie?”
She nodded and cleared her throat while she tried to find some order to her thoughts.
“It occurs to me, Your Honor, that perhaps the…disposition of my late husband should be taken into account before you send an innocent man to jail.” She glanced sideways and noticed the sheriff leaning back against the wall, visibly relieved he hadn’t been forced to take his friend into custody. Yet.
“Mr. Reynolds,” Van Fleet said, “would you care to swear in your client and put her on the stand?”
The formalities were dealt with, and while smiling and swearing on a bible, Gen was frantically searching for the right thing to say. But she was given no time at all.
The judge looked pointedly at Freddy, who then hurried forward to address her.
“Mrs. Carnegie, would you tell the court what you know of your late husband’s state of mind at the time the will was written.”
Mr. Atwood was a nervous wreck of a man. While the rest of the room was standing in alarm, he was fretfully trying to keep his backside in his chair while he covered his mouth with a kerchief.
Devlin watched her closely. Underneath his concern for himself, he still seemed to pity her.
Brief passages from his journals came back to her then. The love I have for Gen is nothing compared to the pity… Poor Gen. David nearly broke her today just as cruelly as he would a horse. Poor Gen…
Poor Gen.
“Proceed, Mrs. Carnegie.” Van Fleet’s voice cut through her thoughts.
She thanked the man. “My late husband, D
avid Zollinger, was a cruel man to both myself and his brother.” She only realized how true the words were as she said them. “Though it hurts my case to admit it, I believe with no doubt whatsoever, that David wrote both wills with every expectation that it would pit Devlin and I against each other in just such a setting as this. Such cruelty was entertaining for him…”
Another bit of truth occurred to her and it nearly knocked her out of her chair. For a certainty, it stole her breathe away.
David Zollinger never would have loved her, even if he’d been the first one she’d laid eyes on that day. Even if she’d loved him with her whole heart, and not half.
With shaking hands, Gen reached into her bag for her handkerchief, fearing she might not be able to conceal her emotions much longer, since it appeared she had little control over her body.
Freddy reached forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. The poor man had no idea what she wanted him to do. They hadn’t prepared for her to side with the enemy.
Van Fleet looked a bit subdued himself and pushed the gavel to the side. “And at the time these wills were written?”
“I…uh.” She folded the hankie over and over again. “In May of that year… The entire month, actually…” She tried to remember that blissful month that was apparently just a lie, but her mind kept sidestepping to that day just two years ago when she’d found the will. Bartie knew he was dying. They were going through papers with the attorneys at his bedside. Her personal papers were opened. The will was in an envelope along with her first marriage certificate. She’d not known a thing about it until that moment. David must have tucked it there.
“Let her be.” Devlin called out. “David was a bastard. Leave it at that.”
The room fell silent.
It seemed like ages before the judge spoke.
“Gentlemen. Do you have any objections to the somewhat vague testimonies offered?”
Devlin’s outburst must have counted some too.
Both lawyers shook their heads. The judge then looked at Gen. She supposed that opportunity he was offering—for her to let her wishes be known—was all she was going to get for the price of one green and gold curricle belonging to Mrs. Van Fleet. But David’s character had been revealed. The only question was, what would the judge be able to do with that truth?
