“Joby Berland!” Beth exclaimed in disgust. “Everybody in town knows he’s no good. And Rance Crenshaw is almost as bad. Surely Dusty doesn’t believe their story.”
“I am afraid he does, and so will everyone else.”
“No!”
Chase smiled down at her, the hard shell he had erected around his heart melting a little beneath the warmth of her touch, the trust in her eyes. “How do you know I did not do it?”
Beth stared up at him. The thought that he might be guilty had never occurred to her. “You didn’t, did you?”
“No.”
“I’d better go,” Beth said. “Can I bring you anything?”
Chase shook his head.
“I’ll come see you again if I can,” she said, and rising on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his, then turned and hurried toward the stairs.
Chase stared after her, the pain in his side forgotten in the wonder of seeing her again. Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, he rubbed his hand over the silk stocking he had taken that day by the river. It was smooth and soft, like her skin.
Withdrawing the stocking from his pocket, he pressed it to his face and took a deep breath. The fragrance that was Beth filled his nostrils.
Wadding the stocking up, he put it back in his pocket, then slowly sank down on the cot, afraid that what he felt for Beth Johnson was far more dangerous than being accused of being a horse thief.
Chapter Seven
Jenny frowned as she glanced at the grandfather clock ticking quietly in the corner.
“He isn’t coming,” she said despondently. “We might as well eat.”
“Maybe something came up,” Ryder suggested, hoping to comfort her. She’d been moping around the house for over an hour. Time and again, she’d gone to the window, only to sigh and turn away. “Or maybe he’s just on Apache time,” Ryder said with a wry grin. The Indians didn’t have clocks, didn’t do things by set times. They ate when they were hungry, slept when they were tired, hunted when they needed meat. It had been a good way to live.
Jenny shook her head. “He hates me.”
“I doubt it.”
She whirled around to face him, her hands fisted on her hips. “Then where is he?”
“I don’t know, honey.”
Jenny blew out a long breath. First they’d gotten a message from Dusty saying he had a prisoner and couldn’t leave the jail, and now Chase the Wind had apparently changed his mind about coming to supper. She’d hoped that somehow she could make amends, that if Chase the Wind wouldn’t accept her as his mother, they might at least become friends.
Going into the kitchen, she opened the oven and pulled out a pan of biscuits, her frustration making itself known in the way she slammed the oven door.
Ryder grinned as he stood in the doorway watching her. “Hey? Is it safe for me to come in there?”
“Somebody has to eat all this food before it burns,” she muttered, stirring the gravy simmering in the pan on the stove. “It might as well be you.”
“Thanks.”
Jenny looked up at his wry tone. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.” Taking the wooden spoon from her hand, Ryder drew Jenny into his arms and gave her a hug. “Chicken smells good,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “Come on, let’s eat.”
Jenny rested her cheek against Ryder’s chest. “It’s not just that Chase the Wind didn’t show up. I thought it would be a good time for Dusty and Chase to meet and get acquainted. I was hoping they might get to be friends. I was hoping…” She sniffed back a tear. “Chase seemed so lonely, I was hoping that he’d, that we could…”
She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. Old hurts couldn’t be mended in a day. Maybe, like a plate once broken, trust could never be whole again.
“I wanted so much for him to like me. To forgive me.”
“I know, honey, I know.” Placing a finger beneath her chin, he tipped her face up and kissed her. “But let’s not judge him too harshly until we hear his side, okay? I’ll ride into town tomorrow morning and see what I can find out.”
* * * * *
Ryder left the ranch early the following morning, determined to find Chase the Wind, sit him down, and find out what the hell was going on. No matter how Chase felt about his mother, he had no cause to upset her. Jenny had done what she felt was right for all concerned, and she paid for it every day of her life. If Chase couldn’t understand that, then Ryder, by damn, intended to make him understand.
Is wasn’t until he reached town that he realized he had no idea where to find Chase. Thinking perhaps Dusty would know, he reined up outside the jail, nodding at May Ellen Coombs, who was sweeping the boardwalk in front of her father’s store.
Dismounting, he settled his hat on his head and opened the jailhouse door.
Dusty was sitting behind the desk, thumbing through a stack of wanted posters.
“So,” Ryder said, stepping into the sheriff’s office, “how’s it going?”
“Fine,” Dusty replied. He gestured at the seat in front of his desk. “What brings you into town so early in the morning?”
Ryder leaned back in his chair, collecting his thoughts. “It can wait. I’ve got a couple things to tell you, and I want you to hear me out before you say anything.”
“Is something wrong at home?”
“No,” Ryder said, and taking a deep breath, he told Dusty about Chase the Wind.
“Why didn’t anybody ever tell me this before?” Dusty asked. Rising, he began to pace the floor. “All these years, I’ve had a brother and didn’t know it. Dammit, Mother should have told me.” He came to an abrupt halt, his eyes narrowed as he faced his father. “Why now?” he asked. “Why tell me now?”
“He’s here, in Twin Rivers,” Ryder said. “He was supposed to come to dinner last night, but he never showed up. I told your mother I’d come in and ask around, see if I could find out if he’s still here.”
“You didn’t tell me his name.”
“He calls himself Chase the Wind.”
Dusty sat down hard. “Chase the Wind? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“He’s here,” Dusty said, feeling as though someone had just poleaxed him. “Upstairs.”
Ryder swore under his breath. “He’s in jail?”
Dusty nodded. “The Harvey brothers have accused him of stealing that big chestnut stud of theirs and shooting Ned Greenway.”
“Did he do it?”
“He’s got no alibi.”
“Are there any witnesses?”
“Just Berland and Crenshaw.”
“Berland and Crenshaw!” Ryder swore again. “I wouldn’t take their word that it was raining if I was standing knee-deep in mud and soaking wet.”
“Well, they claim to have caught him dead to rights. And the Harveys claim he’s the one who shot Greenway.”
Ryder dragged a hand across his jaw, wondering how the hell he could go home with a story like this. “When’s the trial?”
“It’s set for a week from Friday, Judge Brooks should be back from Santa Fe by then.”
“You know I can’t let him hang.”
“I know.”
“If he’s convicted…” Ryder didn’t finish the thought. There was no need.
“Does he know about me?”
“Your mother told him.”
“Damn! What do I do now?” Dusty ran a hand through his hair. “I like being the sheriff. I like knowing I’m doing something worthwhile in this town, something that makes a difference.”
Ryder sat back in his chair, his chin resting on his folded hands. This was a decision Dusty would have to make for himself. Like most important decisions, it didn’t come easy.
Dusty slammed his fist on the desk. “Dammit, I don’t even know the man, but I’m with you. I can’t let him hang.”
Ryder grunted softly. “For now, let’s just sit tight and see how the hand plays out. If he’s tried and found guilty…well, we’l
l worry about that when it happens. Okay if I go up and see him?”
Dusty nodded.
“You want me to tell him who you are?”
“Yeah. It might make it easier on both of us.”
Rising to his feet, Ryder clapped his son on the shoulder, then headed for the stairs. He’d been a law-abiding citizen for the last twenty-five years. He hoped that wasn’t about to change.
* * * * *
Chase came awake at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Thinking it was the doctor, come to check his wound, he kept his eyes closed. It hurt to move, to breathe.
“Chase?”
At the sound of Fallon’s voice, he opened his eyes, then slowly sat up, his back resting against the wall.
Ryder glanced around the small iron-barred cell. He’d always hated small places, hated feeling closed in. Leaning one shoulder against the bars, he met Chase the Wind’s shuttered gaze. “How are you, Son?”
“I am not your son.”
“True enough, but I’d still like to know how you are.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I love your mother,” Ryder said quietly. “And she cares.”
“Then why isn’t she here?”
Ryder blew out an exasperated breath. “Listen, Chase, save the insolence for somebody else. I don’t need it.”
Chase met his gaze, his face impassive.
“I didn’t know until a few minutes ago that you were here.”
Ryder’s gaze swept the cell again. It wasn’t much bigger than an outhouse, and smeller little better. All the cleaning in the world couldn’t wash away the jailhouse stench. “Damn,” he muttered, “I hate jails.”
Chase raised a skeptical brow.
“I’ve been where you are now,” Ryder said quietly. “I know what you’re thinking, and I know how you’re feeling. I’m only gonna ask you this once. Did you steal the Harveys’ stud horse?”
“No.”
“Did you shoot Greenway?”
“No.”
“I believe you.”
“The jury will not.”
Ryder grinned ruefully. “Probably not, but you’re gonna have to trust me when I tell you that you won’t hang. No matter what verdict they decide on, you won’t hang. I promise you that.”
Chase stared at the man who had married his mother. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything except your trust.” Ryder shook his head, frustrated by the younger man’s stoic expression. And yet he understood it all too well. How many times had he covered fear with bravado, anger with arrogance?
“Listen, Chase, I love your mother. I’d do anything for her. Anything. Including breaking her son out of jail if it becomes necessary. Now, you can believe me or not, that’s up to you. But one thing you have to know, Jenny loves you. It broke her heart to leave you behind. I know. I was there. You’ve been in her thoughts every day since then.”
“I believe you,” Chase replied quietly. “But the hurt remains.”
“I reckon so. I’ve got one other thing to tell you before I go.” Ryder took a deep breath. “Your mother told you that you had a brother.”
Chase nodded.
“Well, he’s the sheriff.”
Chase stared at Fallon. “The man who locked me up is my brother?”
“He didn’t know who you were until today.” Ryder pushed away from the bars and resettled his hat on his head. “He’ll be up to see you in a few minutes. Do you need anything?”
“Only my freedom.”
“I’ll work on it. In the meantime, I’ll see that you get a change of clothes. And I reckon your mother will be coming by to see you first thing tomorrow.”
Chase nodded, uncomfortable with the tide of emotions swirling through him.
“Well, so long,” Ryder said. Turning away from the cell, he started toward the stairs.
“Fallon.”
Ryder paused and glanced over his shoulder.
“I…thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Feeling shaky, Chase closed his eyes. He heard the faint murmur of voices from below, the sound of a door opening and closing, and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
He took a deep breath, surprised at how nervous he was at the idea of meeting his brother face-to-face. And then Dusty was there, staring at him through the bars, and Chase’s nervousness was swallowed up by a wave of humiliation.
Dusty shifted from one foot to the other, wondering why it was so hard to think of something to say. Chase the Wind was his brother, for crying out loud. They had years to catch up on.
“So, I guess Dad told you we’re related.”
“He is not my father.”
“Sorry. Listen, I just thought the two of us ought to meet.” Dusty gestured at the bars between them. “I was hoping it would be under different circumstances.”
A faint smile tugged at Chase’s lips. “It would have been my wish, too.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I am all right.”
“This is really awkward,” Dusty remarked. “You know, if it was up to me, I’d turn you loose.”
“Would you?”
“I’m a pretty good judge of character, Chase. You said you were innocent, and I believe you.”
“Your father has also said he believes me.”
“Nothing gets by my old man,” Dusty said proudly. “He’s the best. I’d like to ask you one question, though. What happened to your rifle?”
“What rifle?”
“The witnesses all claim you had a rifle. Berland says you shot Rance with it. The Harveys say you shot their foreman.”
“I had no rifle. Only a knife. I threw it at the man who shot me.”
Dusty crossed his arms over his chest. Someone was lying, and he didn’t think it was Chase.
It would bear some thinking about later, but now he wanted to get to know his brother. “If you feel like talking about it, I’d like to know a little about your past… You know, what it was like growing up with the Apache.”
Right hand pressed over the wound in his side, Chase moved to the end of the cot so there was not quite so much distance between them. “And then I would like to know about you.”
“Fair enough,” Dusty said. Pulling a battered wooden chair close to the cell, he sat down and made himself comfortable.
* * * * *
Beth fidgeted all through dinner, wishing her father would just shut up. All he could talk about was the Indian who had been arrested for stealing a horse. There would be a trial on Friday, her father said, and then he would be hanged for his crimes.
Beth stared at her father. He never mentioned the possibility that Chase might be innocent. To hear him tell it, the trial was merely for show, the guilty verdict a foregone conclusion.
“Enough talk about horse thieves,” Theda Johnson said. She looked at Beth and smiled. “We’re leaving for New York next month.”
“Next month! Why?”
“Your father and I have decided that Ernest Toombs isn’t the man for you.”
Thank goodness, Beth thought, careful to keep her face impassive. Now that she’d met Chase the Wind, her determination not to marry Ernest was stronger than ever.
Theda Johnson folded her napkin and placed it on the table beside her plate. “I had a letter from an old acquaintance of mine. Lydia Cummings. Her brother was widowed a year ago, and now he’s looking for a wife to help raise his three daughters.”
Beth stared at her mother, a horrible feeling growing within her.
“Lester Harbaugh is a lawyer, and quite well-to-do. Your father and I think he would be a good match for you.”
Beth bit back a groan of despair. She could just picture Lester Harbaugh—short and rotund, with oily hair and fat fingers. He’d call her “my dear” and kiss her on the cheek. He’d expect her to be obedient and ladylike, and to give him more children, preferably sons to carry on the family name.
“You might show a
little enthusiasm,” her father remarked.
“He sounds very…very nice,” Beth replied. “How old are his children?”
“I believe the oldest is twelve, and the youngest is six.”
Twelve! Beth stared at her parents. Did they seriously expect her to marry a man who had a child who was only five years younger than herself? “How old is Mr. Harbaugh?”
“In his early thirties, I believe.”
Thirties! He was old enough to be her father!
“We’ll begin shopping for our trip next week,” her mother said, beaming. “Imagine, Elizabeth, a lawyer!”
“Yes,” Beth said, swallowing the lump of disgust in her throat. “Imagine.”
As soon as she could, she excused herself from the table and went to her room. Standing at the window, she stared into the darkness. How could her parents marry her off to an old man? She wasn’t ready to have children of her own, let alone look after someone else’s. She wasn’t ready to settle down and be a matron…
Putting such depressing thoughts behind her, she gazed toward the far end of town, wondering if Chase was all right, if he was thinking of her.
She hardly knew him, yet he had been constantly in her thoughts from the moment she had first seen him outside the general store. And then she had seen him at the river, heard his voice, deep and rich. Ever since that day, she had dreamed of him, thought of him, fantasized about what it would be like to be held in his arms, to be kissed…innocent that she was, her daydreams ended with love’s first kiss and happily ever after.
They were going to hang him. Pressing her forehead against the windowpane, she closed her eyes. Unbidden came the memory of a hanging she had glimpsed when she’d been a little girl. She remembered watching the man climb the thirteen wooden steps up to the gallows, remembered how pale he’d looked as the hangman placed the noose around his neck. She clearly remembered the audible gasp of the crowd as the hangman reached for the lever that would spring the trap, the awful, animal-like cry of terror that had been torn from the man’s throat just before the trap was sprung. She hadn’t watched the hanging itself, nor had she ever been able to understand why anyone else would want to witness such a gruesome sight.
A low moan rose in her throat as she imagined Chase the Wind standing on just such a gallows, a thick rope pulled tight around his neck, his hands bound behind his back, his long black hair fluttering in the breeze…
Chase the Wind (Apache Runaway Book 2) Page 6
