His left hand shot up and manacled her wrist. “You’re not going anywhere.” He hauled her in his wake over toward the workshop, bellowing, “Duncan!”
Duncan shot out of his workshop. “Aye?”
“Take Elspeth.” Chris gently transferred her and pressed a kiss on her cheek as she babbled a stream of sounds. His tenderness made Katie cry all the harder.
“What’s amiss?” Duncan held the baby protectively.
“Miss Regent.”
“Katie?” Duncan gave her a baffled look.
“You’ll never guess what she’s been hiding.” Chris didn’t even pause. “Whelan’s her brother.”
“Brother?” Duncan’s brows shot upward.
“Stepbrother,” she corrected tearfully.
“What other lies have you told us?” Chris demanded.
“I never once lied.” Anger shot through her. “The night you brought me here and I discovered what you are, I begged you to let me go. You’d hidden the truth, and when I confronted you, you proclaimed you’d never once lied to me and that your personal information was none of my business.”
“It wasn’t.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Christopher Gregor. You can’t fault me when you did the selfsame thing!”
“ ’Tis not the same thing a-tall! My business is to bring that criminal to justice.”
He marched her down the street, kicked open the jail door, and shoved her into a cell. The keys jangled loudly as he locked her in.
“What are you doing? You can’t lock me up. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Accessory after the fact,” he said curtly. “You have knowledge concerning a criminal and did nothing to bring him to justice. Any blood he’s shed since the day of our shootout—that blood is on your hands, Miss Regent.”
“That’s outrageous!” She clenched her fingers around the bars and rattled the gate. It made a horrible clatter but didn’t yield. “How could I possibly know what he was doing when you were with me?”
“Criminals have hideaways. Where’s your brother’s?”
“I told you I didn’t know where my brother was. I told you the day we met!”
“I scarcely believe you’d announce to all and sundry that your brother’s face was on a WANTED poster and you knew his whereabouts.”
“I haven’t seen him in five years. Not until that day.”
“That makes for a touching story, but I don’t buy it. Not for one second. He’s been all around Texas, wreaking havoc. You think I’m so thickheaded, I would think his stumbling into you in the wide open spaces of Texas was just a coincidence?”
Slowly, she uncurled her fingers and let loose of the bars. Sinking onto the narrow wooden plank bed, she held her shaking hands tightly together. “Believe whatever you want to. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Chris sat down at the desk and pulled a sheet of paper from the drawer. The only sound in the jail was the scratch of his pen’s nib on the paper.
I’ve been such a fool. I knew this day would come and he’d be furious. I knew it. So why did I always look forward to him coming home? And why am I so hurt that he’s acting just as I knew he would?
Minutes passed. Finally, she said, “The clock’s not wound.”
He kept his back to her and gave a maddening shrug.
“Just how long are you planning on leaving me in here?”
“As long as it takes.” He swiveled the oak chair around. The smile on his face chilled her to the core. “The game has changed, Wren. I’m no longer chasing the rat. I’m setting a trap with irresistible bait: you.”
It didn’t escape her notice that he’d reverted to calling her “Wren” or “Miss Regent.” The way he’d pronounce “Katie” accentuated his Scottish burr, and it always made her feel as if a tiny measure of affection or protection came with the name change. But that was gone now.
“Aye, Wren. He’ll come to get you.”
“You’re wasting your time. He left me behind when Mama died. If he wouldn’t take care of me when I was only fifteen, what makes you think he’ll suddenly turn into a dutiful brother? Not everyone is blessed to have fine brothers like you do.”
“Your story is touching, but it’s hogwash, and we both know it. A lass out on her own at such a tender age wouldna be able to afford a fancy sewing machine. I dinna ken why I didna wonder about that earlier. But that alone condemns you.”
“I scrimped and saved and sacrificed for that machine!”
He gave her a mocking smile and applauded. “I believe you missed your calling in life, Wren. You should have become an actress. ’Tis rare to find such talent.”
Stinging from his insult, she backed away and sat on the board. “You don’t want justice; you want revenge. You’re mistaken, though. You loved your friend. My stepbrother doesn’t value me.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“I’d like an envelope, please.”
Chris held his hand out by the bars. “Pass me the letter.”
“The United States mail is private!”
“Your letter isn’t in the mail yet, and it’s standard practice to review all communications entering and leaving a jailhouse.” He stared at her.
“Oh, all right.” She huffed, yet she carefully turned her hand sideways so the pages wouldn’t become wrinkled.
An intelligent woman, Kathryn Regent might well have a code of some kind. Chris moved to a sunny spot and looked down at the paper. Dear Lucille…
Chris snorted. He’d not underestimate her. The woman was as wily as could be. He shoved the letter onto his desk. “You don’t really expect me to send that.”
“I do. Even the Romans permitted Paul to send letters from jail.”
Duncan came in, and Chris spoke to his brother, “Stay here for a few minutes while I send off a few telegrams and do another errand.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Duncan gawked at him. “Open that cell and free that lass this verra minute!”
“I don’t tell you how to make shoes and saddles. Don’t tell me how to do my job.” He kept possession of the keys and stalked out of the jail.
By the time he’d sent the necessary telegrams and arranged for an article to run on the front page of the Gazette, Chris dared to hope he’d finally bring down Whelan. He’d need to deputize several men in town and was making a mental list of likely prospects when he walked back into the jailhouse.
“What,” he roared, “is going on here?”
Mercy was pushing a quilt through the bars of Wren’s cell. Carmen finished making up the bunk in the adjacent cell. A canning jar with flowers sat on his desk. Rob tromped in with a fresh bucket of water and a dipper, and Elspeth slept contentedly in a wicker basket in the middle of the activity.
“You put the lass in our care,” Duncan asserted. “Aye, you did. So we’re caring for her.”
“I remembered you saying something about protective custody when you brought Katie home to us.” Mercy straightened out and rubbed her lower back. “So Carmen and I decided she needed help making this dreary place more comfortable. We’ll each take turns staying with her. It’s not proper for her to be alone with you.”
“She’s locked inside the cell.”
“And a sad state of affairs that is.” Robert gave Chris a baleful glare. “I’ll not hold with blaming an innocent for the wrongs someone else has done.”
“Does it occur to any of you that Whelan has managed to avoid capture even with two bullet holes in him? That she might be tipping him off?”
“And how would I be doing that?”
“Any number of ways. Telegrams—”
“Carmen and I would know if she’s sent any.” Mercy shook her head. “She hasn’t.”
“Letters. She wrote one today.”
“To Lucille?” Carmen smiled. “I hope you told her cook how much we love that recipe for the spaghetti.”
“See? She’s been sending letters.” Chris spied something and stomped across the
floor. He opened the small, glass-fronted door on the clock and stopped the pendulum. After closing it, he opened the face and reset the hands. “No one touches that. No one.”
“It’s just a clock.” Mercy gave him a baffled look.
“Connant’s clock.” Chris stared at them. “The hands mark the time of his passing, and there they’ll stay until Whelan’s brought to justice.”
“Time waits for no man,” Rob said.
“Time might not, but I do. God’s put the means in my hands to capture Connant’s murderer. I’ll sit and wait. The rest of you, out of here. I’ll not have you in danger.”
“Oh, we’re safer if we’re all together.” Carmen smiled. “Don’t you think so, Mercy?”
“Absolutely. Why, if you are at your house and I’m at mine, and Duncan’s in his shop and Rob is in the clinic, Whelan might sneak up on any or all of us. There’s strength in numbers.”
“You have a point.” Chris paused a moment. He knew he had their attention. “Carmen, you and Mercy can go stay at her grandda’s or with your sister. Rob, you can go along. Duncan, I’m deputizing you.”
“But—”
“This isna a voting matter. I’m the law, and you’ll obey my edict. Rob, Duncan—your first duty is to your wives and the bairns. You ken ’tis a dangerous trap I’ve set.”
“If it’s dangerous, you can’t put Katie in the middle,” Mercy protested.
“I am in the middle of it.” Katie’s admission surprised him. “Whelan is wicked. From the beginning, I’ve feared for your safety. Please, please go. I can’t bear the thought of you being in danger because of me.”
“Let’s all have a word of prayer before you go,” Duncan said quietly.
They started to join hands, and Rob slid his hands between the bars. “You, too, Katie.”
“It’s kind of you, Rob, but I don’t belong.”
Carmen opened her mouth to protest, but Duncan shook his head.
Chris joined them, but it felt wrong. He felt like an outsider in his own family, and they’d wanted to include his enemy’s sister.
Chapter 10
Having slept on hard pallets most of her life, Wren decided sleep would be a refuge. She curled up with her back to Christopher and huddled beneath the summer-weight quilt Carmen brought her. All evening long, men came and left. They’d spoken in low murmurs and cast odd looks at her.
Lord, I don’t know what to do. Everything is so mixed up. Only You can untie all of these tangled threads. Please, Father, keep each of my new friends safe. Don’t allow harm to come to any of them. Set Your angels about them for protection.
My attitude was wrong. Deep in my heart, I knew I should have told Chris the truth a long time ago. He was kinder to me than anyone has ever been, but fear and pride led me to keep my secret. Through it all, I haven’t had faith that You would work things out. I confess that shameful fact and beg Your forgiveness. Be my refuge and strength, Father, I pray. Amen.
“Katie, lass,” Duncan called softly. “Dinna weep.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been crying. She took a few choppy breaths. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”
“Aye, you’re fine. Chris, I’m rememberin’ that prayer Ma taught us. ‘Now I lay me—’ ”
Chris’s deep voice joined in, “ ’—down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep.’ ”
“ ‘If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.’ ” Wren said softly, “When I was a little girl, a friend at school taught me that.”
“Ma didna like that last part,” Chris said.
“Nae, she didna. I’m trying to remember. Something about say and day.”
Chris cleared his throat. “ ‘In everything I do or say, I’ll serve my God both night and day.’ ”
“That’s so very dear.” Wren snuggled into the pillow. “You were blessed to have such wonderful parents.”
“Aye, we were.” The brothers spoke the same words at the same time.
The unity they displayed stunned her. What would it be like to have grown up in a home where the parents were godly and love flowed so freely? What would it have been like to have a brother who loved me?
The next morning, the rail station manager showed up with Katie’s belongings. Chris was off somewhere doing something secretive. Leonard from the mercantile had been deputized and left in charge. Uncertain of what to do, he allowed Wren to have her sewing machine in her cell so she wouldn’t be bored.
Old Mr. Rundsdorf came in to pay a call on her. He sat outside her cell and sanded one of his mesquite wood bowls to a smooth finish. “When you get out of there, you can open up a shop and keep treats in the bowl, just as Duncan does.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at the dear old man. His show of support touched her.
“When you open that shop, I’ll be your first customer, too. This shirt you made me—I’ve never had one fit this well.”
After Mr. Rundsdorf left, Leonard allowed her scissors and a bolt of fabric, so she used the bench-like bunk as a cutting table. Desperate to have something to occupy her mind, she determined to make several baby gowns for Mercy.
“Miss Regent, I have some lunch here for you.”
She looked up. “Oh. Thank you.”
Leonard’s ears were bright red. “I’ll have to ask you to go sit on the bunk whilst I open the cell door.”
“Of course.” As he brought in the sandwich and apple, she let out a small laugh. “Somehow, I had the notion that the only meals served in jail consisted of bread and water.”
“We’ll make sure you don’t go hungry.”
Late in the afternoon, Leonard stretched. “You sure have been stitching up a storm. That foot treadle makes for quick seams. Puts the hand-turned wheel models to shame.”
“The stitches are strong and even, too.”
“Never paid much mind to how much work goes into itty-bitty baby gowns. Mercy Gregor’s going to be tickled pink to get those.”
“She’s been a dear friend.” Wren finished one last row of pintucking. “I’d like to hide them until the baby comes. Is there someplace you could put them?”
“I reckon one of the desk drawers will do. Since we don’t have a sheriff, nothing’s in them.”
She handed him the gowns, and Leonard chuckled. “Lookie there. You fancified these everyday ones by stitching colored lines on ’em. The buttons match. You gonna sew like this once you open that shop Mr. Rundsdorf was talking about?”
“I’ll have to see how God works things out.”
“Plenty of folks ‘round here are bendin’ God’s ear, telling Him what they think He ought to do.”
“I’ve done my share of that, too.” Wren started cleaning up. “It was foolish of me. I should have done a lot more listening and a lot less talking.”
“Funny,” Christopher said from the doorway. “I’ve been thinking you didn’t do nearly enough talking.”
“Mr. Gregor! Mr. Gregor!” Nestor scrambled through the door.
“Nestor, what’s amiss?”
“José got my shooter and won’t give it back.”
“Hmmm.” Chris turned around and squatted to be at eye level with the boy. Wren watched how he acted as if the boy’s concern were the most important thing in the world. “ ’Tis a pity. A sorrowful pity. Could you be telling me just how José took possession of such a fine treasure?”
“We were shooting marbles. It landed on the line. I say that means I keep it. José says he does.”
“Now that surely does give me pause to think. I’m sure there’s a rule about it, but it’s been a good, long while since I played marbles.”
Nestor nodded. “Yeah. You’re really old.”
To his credit, Chris didn’t laugh or scold. He nodded his head. “Aye. And years of experience have taught me that ’tis important to play by the rules. Mr. Rundsdorf does considerable reading. I’m betting he has a book that has the rules for all sorts of games.”
“You think so?”
“A
ye, I do. You and José are good friends. ‘Twould be a crying shame to ruin everything o’er a marble—e’en if it is a prized shooter. Why dinna the pair of you agree to follow the rule, then seek out what the rule book has to say?”
“That’s fair.”
“Off with you.” Chris rose and sauntered into the jailhouse.
“To my recollection,” Leonard mused, “anything on the line is out.”
“I dinna rightly recall, but they can look up the answer together instead of squabbling. A fight is rarely worth the cost. Best the boys learn it early on.”
He’ll be a spectacular father someday. She sighed. If we’d had the same upbringing, maybe Whelan would have turned out better. Well, it’s too late now.
By the third morning of waiting for Whelan to take the bait, Chris sat down at Connant’s old desk. The rhythmic clatter of Wren’s sewing machine barely even registered any longer. She’d been keeping busy, and that suited him fine. Otherwise, she sang or hummed hymns a good portion of the time. Granted, she had the voice of a songbird, but her selections were intentional—and she hadn’t sung other than when specifically asked when they’d been on the road. Now she sang and hummed constantly. Just about the time she’d finished yet another hymn and he felt certain she was using those sacred tunes just to bolster her proclamations of being a Christian, she fretted that the sleeves on the shirt she was making were a tad long. Then she shifted like the Texas wind and launched into a rendition of a silly ditty he’d overheard children sing, “Do Your Ears Hang Low?”
When night fell and she couldn’t see well enough to sew any longer, the woman would strike up a conversation with whoever happened to be on guard. He’d had to grit his molars at some of the things that came out of her mouth.
At first he thought she was weaving tales to get sympathy. Fanciful tales. Like the one where she’d walk the length of a hitching post while singing to earn a free supper from a diner. With a nickname like Wren, that tale took little imagination to concoct.
When Stu Key’s sleeve popped a button, she stitched it right back in place while Stu kept on his shirt. She offered, saying she had the needle and thread handy. Besides, she’d done that same task a few times when her stepfather couldn’t be bothered to leave the poker table.
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