Noelle

by Diana Palmer

  The best way, the only way, would be to flush Garmon out and make him nervous enough to do something stupid. It was his only chance to save Clark. Garmon had two cronies who would swear that day was night if he told them to. Those were the three “eyewitnesses” for the prosecution; they were all three white, and because of it, they would probably be believed.

  What he had to do was use the flimsy circumstantial evidence he’d gathered to convince Garmon that he was onto his game. That would be dangerous, but it seemed the most likely manner in which to proceed. The danger no longer bothered him. He had cared about the future only so long as he had Noelle in his life and in his future. Now that Andrew had returned, he was certain to lose her to the younger man—not because Andrew was a better man, but because Noelle loved him. He had nothing to lose, now. It was like the old, wild days, when not caring gave him the edge. He had it once again, just when he needed it most.

  So, having found where Garmon spent his Friday evenings when he came to town, instead of going home to eat a late supper, Jared went looking for him. He found him losing badly at draw poker in one of the saloons in The Acre, Fort Worth’s red-light district.

  As Garmon threw down his cards and got up, Jared was standing in front of him, blocking his way.

  The cowboy was packing. He had a gun in a belt at his hip and his hand went to it, but when he realized who was standing there he laughed and relaxed.

  “Well, well. If it ain’t the great attorney who’s defending Mr. Beale’s pet nigg—”

  “I’m Clark’s lawyer,” Jared said, eyeing the other man as two smaller men flanked him, looking as belligerent as Garmon did.

  “What are you doing here, lawyer?” Garmon taunted. “Looking for something to drown your sorrows in? Because my buddies and me saw that sorry fellow run out of Marlowe’s store like a scalded dog, carrying something in his hand—something like a bag of money. Didn’t we, boys?”

  “You bet,” they chorused, grinning.

  “And we’re all going to swear to it in court,” Garmon added defiantly.

  Jared’s pale blue eyes narrowed. He looked at Garmon levelly. “What if I told you,” he began slowly, “that I have an eyewitness from Austin who’s coming down here in a couple of days to discredit your testimony?” he added.

  Garmon looked momentarily disconcerted. “What?”

  “He can prove that you aren’t a trustworthy witness against Clark. He’ll testify that you were accused of armed robbery of a storekeeper in Austin, but that you bluffed your way out of it. He’ll testify that you were arrested there on suspicion of robbery—and only turned loose for lack of enough evidence to convict.”

  Garmon lifted his chin. “You can’t prove that.”

  “Can’t I?” Jared asked. “You framed Clark.”

  “And just what makes you think so?” Garmon replied finally, bluffing it through.

  “Beale told me your wages are spent before you ever get them. Where did you get the money to get into that game?” he asked, nodding toward the table.

  Garmon’s hand fell to his gun butt. He whipped the pistol out so fast there were murmurs behind him, leveled it at Jared’s belly, and smiled. “Why don’t I just kill you?” he chided.

  “Go ahead,” Jared said, looking around at the witnesses.

  Garmon’s eyes narrowed. The lawyer was unarmed. This wasn’t smart. With a considering stare, he spun the pistol back into his holster. He was fast, all right. But not quite fast enough, Jared was thinking.

  Garmon postured. “Well, you talk good, fancy pants, but you can’t prove nothing. If you’re so brave, let’s see you take me,” he challenged. “You ain’t got a gun, but I’ll bet somebody’ll loan you one, if you ask nice.” The smile faded. “Somebody give this dude a gun,” he called out, thinking how simple it would be to just shoot the man now. In self-defense, of course.

  His two friends moved closer to him, looking as mean as they could.

  Jared wasn’t intimidated. He’d seen Garmon draw and he knew that he was faster. He could take all three of them, if he had to. But if he killed Garmon here, Clark wasn’t going to have a chance. He couldn’t overplay his hand. He had to back down, or give the appearance of backing down. He wanted Garmon to stew over the threat all night and come looking for him in the morning in a nervous rage. That was what he expected to happen. But he had to set it up first.

  “As you can see—” Jared swept back his coat “—I’m unarmed.” He contrived to look nervous. “I wouldn’t really know what to do with a pistol,” he added deliberately.

  The other man relaxed. “How about with a law book?” Garmon demanded, and laughed uproariously at his own joke.

  Jared stared into the man’s eyes. “When I get my witness on the stand,” he said softly, “I’ll show you my weapons.”

  Garmon didn’t look quite as confident now. “We’ll see,” he said.

  Jared nodded. “Yes, we will. The trial begins at nine in the morning. I’m sure I’ll see you there. Maybe I can even get my witness to come up here tomorrow.”

  He turned, and, while keeping a careful eye on the crowd out of the corner of his eye, gave the appearance of a man stupid enough to turn his back on this crowd. That convinced Garmon that the man wouldn’t fight. But the visit also convinced him that he was going to have to do something quick—or that silver-tongued lawyer would push him into revealing how he got the money to use at the gambling table tonight. He shouldn’t have rushed out to spend it. But he’d kindled lynching fever in people over the robbery, and he’d thought something would come of it. But the people in Fort Worth didn’t seem to have a mob mentality. He couldn’t get people mad enough to act, and old man Marlowe seemed to be recovering, which also took some of the edge off the town’s anger.

  If Clark had been lynched, Garmon wouldn’t have to worry about being caught and put in jail. But now that it hadn’t happened, he couldn’t risk having that lawyer bring out the robbery arrest in Austin. People would see that Garmon was capable of armed robbery. He’d used another name there—how had Dunn traced him?

  He hadn’t counted on that lawyer tracing him to another town where he’d robbed a merchant for easy money and got out of town before the trial. Austin wasn’t the only place he’d pulled that one. What if Dunn dug deeper? There were no convictions, but he’d been arrested three times. He’d never gone to jail. He’d always slipped by. But what if they caught him? What if he got himself locked up? He couldn’t bear the thought of being locked up. It had never occurred to him that he could be caught.

  He ordered a drink and stood wolfing it down while he worked on possibilities. Dunn had said he might bring that witness up from Austin tomorrow. He couldn’t let that happen. Nobody would believe him if there was suspicion cast on his past. The black man would get off and he’d probably be the first suspect, since he was supposedly an eyewitness. Somebody might ask why he’d been close enough to see Clark at Marlowe’s store.

  That lawyer didn’t carry a gun, and he obviously didn’t know how to shoot one. The best way to handle this thing would be to face him down outside the courtroom tomorrow morning and scare him into giving up Clark’s case. Or kill him. That would take care of the Austin witness—if Dunn didn’t handle the case, the witness wouldn’t be needed. That would keep Garmon’s past hidden.

  Afterward, if Dunn ran or was killed, Clark would surely never find another attorney brave enough to challenge Garmon’s story, and Clark would go to jail for the robbery. Garmon would get away scot-free. He’d get the foreman’s job out at Beale’s place and have plenty of money to gamble with, and he could settle down here. To his dull brain, it seemed the perfect plan. He was quick enough with his gun, but he wouldn’t have to be all that fast. It wouldn’t take much to make that prissy lawyer run for his life—if he decided to let him live. He could kill him if he wanted to and call it sel
f-defense.

  The more he thought about it, the better it pleased him. Yes, this plan would do the trick.

  “Pour me another shot of whiskey,” he told the bartender.

  “Say, Garmon—that city lawyer as good as accused you of robbing old man Marlowe,” one of the patrons remarked.

  Garmon whipped out his pistol and leveled it at the man. “You were saying?”

  There was a loud clearing of a throat. “Said I’d go shoot me a city lawyer, if I was you, Garmon,” the man amended quickly.

  Garmon chuckled. He spun the pistol back into his holster. He liked intimidating people. He’d learned long ago that most men wouldn’t argue with a man who could draw as fast as Garmon could. He liked to show off his speed occasionally, just to keep people on their toes. “That’s what I thought you said.”

  * * *

  JARED STOPPED BY the jail to see Brian Clark, who was looking morose.

  “No lynch mobs yet,” Clark remarked, with a weary smile. “I’ve been expecting one.”

  Jared leaned against the bars. “Garmon can’t get enough help,” he said dryly. “But I’ve set the cat among the pigeons. I expect Garmon to come gunning for me in the morning.”

  Clark stood up. “Mr. Dunn, he’s a dangerous man,” he said quietly. “I know things about him that I’ve never told. Don’t get yourself killed on my account.”

  Dunn glanced around. There were no deputies around, no prisoners near enough to hear. “Let me level with you,” he said quietly. “I haven’t got enough hard evidence to win your case. If it goes to trial, there’s a good chance that I’ll lose. You have no alibi, no believable eyewitnesses who could vouch for your whereabouts, and it looks like Marlowe won’t be able to identify his assailant. Garmon’s fanned the fires of hatred around here, and his two cohorts will swear to whatever he tells them. He isn’t known here, but his word will be accepted over yours. Your military record and Beale’s testimony could help. But not enough.” His blue eyes met the man’s levelly. “I can’t get you off. Not in court.”

  Clark seemed to shrink. “I see,” he said.

  “But there’s one other way,” he continued. “I went to find Garmon tonight. I told him that I could link him with at least one other merchant robbery in Texas, and I’ve told him I can bring a witness up here from Austin to swear to it in court. I’ve spooked him. If he reacts as I expect him to, he’ll come looking for me tomorrow before the trial begins.”

  “You’ll get yourself killed,” Clark said worriedly.

  “Just between the two of us, Mr. Clark, I very much doubt it.”

  The city detective, Sims, was watching the jail while the jailer had a meal. He put his head around the door and glowered at Jared. “Clear out,” he said shortly. “Visiting hours are over.”

  “I’m not finished,” Jared replied evenly.

  Sims moved into the room, his hand on his gun belt, his posture threatening. “I said, clear out,” he said, with a surly look, sure that the dude wouldn’t challenge him. City lawyers didn’t bother Sims much.

  Jared hesitated, but it was the wrong time to start trouble. He glanced at Clark. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”

  He turned and started past Sims, who pursed his lips and looked amused. “Do I make you nervous, lawyer?” Sims drawled, fingering his pistol. “Are you scared of guns?”

  Jared lifted an eyebrow. “You have a high opinion of yourself, Sims,” he said pleasantly.

  “If you mean I’m good with a gun, sure I am,” Sims replied. “Know which end of a pistol to point, lawyer?”

  Jared laughed to himself. “One of these days,” he said very softly, and just for a minute his eyes glittered like blue ice, “you may find out the hard way what I know about pistols.”

  He walked on out, his hands in his pockets, his mind on tomorrow and what it would bring. Sims, a little less confident than he pretended to be, stared after the man with open curiosity.

  * * *

  JARED WENT HOME. Noelle was in the living room with his grandmother, but when he came in and poured himself a whiskey, Mrs. Dunn tactfully left the room on the pretext of going to bed.

  Jared sat down across from his wife and stared at her. Beale’s words kept coming back to him, about the past catching up with men when they least expected it. He hadn’t wanted a confrontation, but the only way he was going to save Clark from the gallows was to deliberately provoke one. It went against everything he believed in, against his respect for the law, but he’d backed himself into a corner.

  “Where’s Andrew?” he asked coldly.

  She didn’t look up from her handiwork, and although her heart was racing, she seemed as calm as a summer day. “He went out this evening,” she replied, and she didn’t tell him that Andrew had gone, finally, to call on Miss Beale.

  “And he didn’t take you with him?” he asked coldly.

  She did look up then. Jared looked preoccupied, even as he mocked her. There was something there, something beneath the sarcasm. He was worried.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly. “Can’t you tell me?”

  Her perception startled him. He’d forgotten how far she could see into his soul at times. It had to be a rare thing. He only wished that he could start over with her. But it was much too late. Tomorrow he would more than likely have to face down a gunman who would try to kill him. He could beat Garmon to the draw, but being fast didn’t guarantee the outcome. A man had to be levelheaded, calm, deadly accurate. Most of all, he couldn’t allow his mind to wander. He couldn’t have distractions, or Garmon would have the edge.

  “It’s the trial, isn’t it?” she persisted.

  He leaned back with a long sigh. “Yes.”

  He remembered vividly the way he’d spoken to her at their last meeting, the harsh remarks he’d made about Andrew, his bitter accusations. He felt bad about that. If she genuinely loved the other man, her happiness should come first with him. He should care about her feelings. At least, he thought, he could leave her a kind memory of him to offset the coldness he’d shown to her days before.

  “I’ve been unkind to you,” he said abruptly, startling her into looking up. “I’ve been judgmental and inflexible, and I haven’t considered your feelings at all. I’m sorry.”

  She knew that he rarely apologized. That made the apology all the more poignant. Her hands stilled. “Oh, Jared. I know how much you have on your mind,” she said gently. “Perhaps I can even understand how you feel about Andrew coming back here.” Her eyes fell. “And as you said, you were landed with me. We didn’t marry for love. I had no right to expect anything from you.”

  His eyes closed. He felt a stab of pain right through him. “Do you think anyone could have forced me to marry you if I hadn’t wanted to?” he asked shortly.

  Her thin eyebrows arched. “Well…you—you do love your grandmother,” she said, faltering.

  “Indeed I do,” he said quickly. “But the situation could have been salvaged some other way. I married you because I wanted to, Noelle,” he added quietly, admitting it at last. “I wanted to, very much. And I lied when I said I regretted it. I don’t. I’m only sorry that I had so little to give you.”

  She frowned. “You sound as if you’re saying goodbye.” She laughed nervously.

  “Perhaps I am, in a way,” he told her. He searched her flushed face hungrily, although none of that hunger showed. “You came closer than I’ve ever let anyone else get to me,” he said huskily. “Perhaps, in time, we might have…” He took a long breath and took another sip of his whiskey. “Well, it’s no good talking about what might have been. I want you to be happy, Noelle. We both know by now that we can’t have a future together.”

  Her hands grasped the embroidery and crumpled it while she stared at him. “You seem very certain of it,” she mana
ged in a choked tone.

  “I am.” For as long as she loved Andrew, what happiness could they have? He stared down at his boots. They were dusty, and it did little good to polish them. He missed her tormented expression. “When the trial is over, I’ll see about getting your freedom for you.”

  She couldn’t even breathe. “You mean…a divorce?” she whispered.

  “It would seem to be the only way. But who knows?” he asked on a cold laugh. “Maybe you’ll get it without court intervention.” If Garmon’s aim was true, he was thinking. He glanced up at her. “I’m sure you’re glad to have Andrew back.”

  She was still reeling over his talk of giving her her freedom. “Yes. He was very grateful that you let him come home,” she said absently, recalling his delight when Miss Beale had sent word to him that he was invited to supper at the Beale home this evening. “His heart is here, now.”

  Jared stiffened. “Yes. I know it is.”

  She didn’t see the flash of jealousy in his cold eyes, because he lowered them at once.

  He sipped his whiskey, thinking how pretty she looked in her lacy dress. He remembered much too well how she looked without her lacy dress. He’d been too damned cautious, refusing to share his life with her, protecting himself from betrayal.

  Now he knew with perfect certainty that she wasn’t like Ava, that she’d never lie to him. And he knew that if she’d been able to love him, as she loved Andrew, she’d never think of walking out on him, either, even if she knew exactly what he was, what he’d been. But Andrew was back, and she loved him. He had to let her go, so that she could have the one man she loved.

  “The trial begins tomorrow, doesn’t it?” she asked.

  He frowned. “Yes.”

  “Have you found your proof?”

  “I’ve found suspicion. I don’t have enough proof to save Clark.”

  “Oh, Jared,” she said gently, lifting her eyes to his. “I’m very sorry.”