After Sundown

by Shelly Thacker

  And she had to disillusion him.

  “Some men, maybe... but not James,” she whispered. “He had his faults. But he didn’t deserve to die.” She paused to take another shallow, aching breath. “He was good to me. And I cared about him.” And I thought he cared about me. A pain that no drug could ease wrenched her heart, and she dropped her gaze, staring down at the patterned wool rug on the floor. “I never wanted... to hurt him. I wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose. It was an accident.” Her voice almost gave out. “I swear it was an accident.”

  She lay still, unable to bear what she would see now in Dr. Holt’s eyes: doubt, disapproval, shame. Perhaps anger that she had misled everyone in Eminence for so long. Maybe even pity that she had been foolish enough to care for the wealthy man who had bought and paid for her company.

  The crackling of the fire made the only sound.

  Finally she summoned her courage and looked up again.

  The doctor was simply regarding her with those soft, dove-gray eyes, his expression of concern and compassion unchanged. Then he nodded.

  Annie swallowed hard past a lump in her throat. She didn’t understand how he could just accept that she was telling the truth—without judging her, with no proof other than her word.

  Lucas McKenna would certainly never believe James’s death was an accident.

  And neither would the judge and jury back in St. Charles.

  “Dr. Holt—”

  “Annie, I’ve been telling you for the better part of two months now to call me Daniel,” he chided softly.

  She plucked at a loose thread on the counterpane, the steel manacles around her wrists jangling. “Daniel, I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me. And God knows I”—she inhaled a shaky, shallow breath—“don’t want to go back to Missouri to face a trial, but I... don’t think you should keep trying to help me. It’ll only get you into trouble—”

  “Trouble and I are old acquaintances. And I figure no one from Montana Territory is going to be riding down to help you,” he said, adding gently, “There is no family in Montana Territory, is there?”

  She shook her head, lowering her lashes, remembering the countless lies she had told to conceal her identity.

  “I figured they would’ve come for you long before now. You’re a woman who...” He cleared his throat. “You remind me of...”

  When Annie glanced up, Daniel moved away from the hearth to stand before the front window, staring out into the night. “I had a sister,” be continued haltingly. “Sweet and pretty. Had a real tender heart, like you. Just picked the wrong sort of man. She... died when she was about your age.”

  He fell silent, picking up a porcelain figurine of a cat that lay in the middle of a table before the window.

  “Daniel, I’m sorry,” Annie whispered with genuine feeling, understanding now why he had always shown her such special caring and concern. From the beginning, he had treated her like a little sister.

  He set the figurine down and turned to face her again, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Is there anyone who might be able to help you if—when you go back home to Missouri? Any family?”

  Family. Home. Those two words pained Annie far more than her injuries. “I... have an older brother,” she said, “but...”

  She gazed past Daniel, through the window and into the darkness, remembering the night Raphael Sutton had left St. Charles four years ago. Rafe had galloped off with a smile and a boast. I’m gonna make us rich, Annie. You’ll see. Rich enough to buy this whole damn town. He had written a few times after that—once to ask for money—and then disappeared. Just like Papa.

  Just like men always do, Mama had said.

  And yet, when Annie had first started handling the mail over at Mrs. Greer’s general store, she had secretly placed a letter in the outgoing bag—a note addressed to Rafe’s last known whereabouts and signed only Sweet Pea, the name he used to call her when they were young and inseparable.

  In her heart, she had known her long-lost big brother wouldn’t come riding into Eminence to scoop her up and carry her away to someplace safe. She didn’t even know if he was still alive.

  And yet she kept hoping.

  “No,” she said finally. “No family back in Missouri or anywhere else. Not anymore.” She looked up at Daniel. “It’s only... been two months, but you and the others have... have been more of a family to me than my real family was.”

  Footsteps sounded on the staircase as Mrs. Owens and Mrs. Greer came down from the upper floor.

  Annie held her breath, her side burning, and waited for them to come around the corner into the parlor. She wished she could sink into the couch and disappear. They had done their duty as good Christian women, saw that her injuries were tended and that she had a room for the night—but now they would despise her for what she had done, spurn her like all the other respectable women she had ever met, and walk out the door without a backward glance.

  Rebecca came bustling in several steps ahead of Mrs. Owens.

  And with one look at Annie, she promptly sank to the floor beside the couch in a heap of pink silk and tears, the purple ostrich feather in her hat fluttering as she shook her head. “Oh, dearie! Oh, lamb! Land sakes, I can’t believe what that huffed-up, mean-eyed critter of a lawman said! Tell me it isn’t true! Please tell me it isn’t—”

  “Rebecca...” Annie felt a sharp pain in the center of her chest that had nothing to do with broken bones. Everyone in Eminence had been so generous to her, but Rebecca most of all—and in return Annie had brought her only hurt. “I’m not going to lie to you anymore,” she whispered. “What the marshal told you is true—”

  “You mean... you planned to murder that man?” Mrs. Owens sank down in an armchair next to the couch.

  “W-What?” Annie glanced from her to Daniel and back to Rebecca.

  “That was what he told the folks outside!” Rebecca cried. “He’s an awful, terrible critter!” She proceeded to recount at length the marshal’s version of what had taken place back in Missouri.

  And for the first time since her arrest, Annie felt an emotion other than guilt and fear.

  Anger. “He thinks I plotted to kill James? For revenge and the money? Why would he...”

  She didn’t finish, already knowing the answer: Lucas McKenna was like everyone else back in St. Charles. Everyone who had always thought the worst of her, always believed she was her mama’s daughter.

  “Anyone who knows you would know better.” Rebecca dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “You wouldn’t hurt a flea, never mind plot a murder!”

  “Tell us what happened,” Mrs. Owens suggested gently.

  “Yes, lamb, just tell us.” Rebecca reached down to brush a damp strand of hair from Annie’s forehead.

  Annie closed her eyes, the motherly gesture wringing her heart. “Rebecca, some of it’s true. I am the daughter of a prostitute,” she whispered. “And I was James McKenna’s mistress for three years. The child I was carrying”—her voice broke—“was his. I’ve never had a husband. And I did take James’s life...”

  She turned her face away, choked with guilt and remorse, tears sliding down her cheeks. “B-But I didn’t go there that night to kill him. I didn’t bring a gun. I went to tell him about the baby. And he... he threw fifty dollars at me and told me to get out and...” A sob tore from her. “I don’t know anything about guns. There was one on the desk and... I didn’t know it could go off like that. I never meant to hurt him! It all happened so fast.” She was sobbing so hard, she couldn’t continue.

  After a moment, to her astonishment, she felt Rebecca’s gentle touch again, smoothing her tangled hair in that comforting, motherly gesture. “Shh, lamb. It’s all right.”

  “You’re no murderer,” Mrs. Owens added in her soft Southern accent. “Maybe not all the folks in town are going to believe you, but some of us...”

  “Some of us believe in forgiveness. And second chances,” Daniel said. “Unfortunately, the marshal is nev
er going to believe the shooting was unintentional. He’s ready to march Annie off to face a hanging judge at the first opportunity.”

  “Well, we’re not just going to leave this poor dear at that critter’s mercy,” Rebecca declared.

  Mrs. Owens nodded in agreement. “We’ll do whatever we can—”

  “Wait.” Annie couldn’t seem to catch her breath, glancing between the three of them. “Didn’t you hear everything I just said? You shouldn’t get involved with—”

  “We’re already involved,” Mrs. Owens said simply. “We’re your friends.”

  Annie’s vision blurred again and she blinked to clear it. “But I took a man’s life. I’m a wanted criminal. And I lied to all of you. I claimed to be a widow when I’m a...” She lowered her gaze. “A fallen woman. I shouldn’t even... be in the same room with ladies like you.”

  “You really believe that?” Mrs. Owens asked gently.

  When Annie looked up, she found both ladies regarding her with the same expression as Daniel: no condemnation, only compassion.

  “You’re not the only person who ever came West to leave a troubled past behind,” Mrs. Owens continued slowly. She held Annie’s gaze for a long moment, her hazel eyes brimming with emotion, then glanced down, running one hand over the faded fabric of her skirt. “Or the only young woman ever to run afoul of the law.”

  “What... what are you saying?”

  “We’re saying,” Rebecca told her, “that nobody walkin’ on this here Earth is spotless perfect—especially in these parts. Only saints you’ll see around here is the ones painted in the stained-glass windows up at the church.”

  “And not everybody in Eminence,” Daniel added quietly, “has chosen to stay here because they’re hoping for another silver strike or can’t afford to move on.”

  Annie stared up at them, unable to find enough breath to form words. She felt dizzy, like the whole room was turning upside down.

  “And some folks aren’t going to be too happy that a man with a badge has come to town.” Mrs. Owens sat back in her chair, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if she’d taken a chill. “Some folks here have secrets they’d prefer to keep.”

  “True.” Daniel leaned one shoulder against the hearth, folding his arms. “But a lot can happen in five weeks. A whole lot.” His voice became strangely calm. “Let me tell you what I have in mind.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Hold the light higher, kid. I can’t do this in the dark.”

  “Sorry, sir.” Travis complied so fast, he almost whacked Lucas in the shoulder with the lantern. “This better, Marshal? How’s it look, sir?”

  Lucas frowned at the boy. For more than two hours now, Travis had been tagging along beside him, alternately chattering, helping, and getting in the way while Lucas set out to put his idea into action.

  After stopping at the general store, he had tracked down the stagecoach driver and personally handed him three letters—one addressed to Olivia and his sisters, one to the constables in St. Charles, the third to his deputies in Indian Territory—telling them he would be returning to Missouri with his prisoner in a couple of weeks.

  Then he had followed Travis to the charred remains of the jail, and began a tour of the town’s abandoned hotels.

  At the moment, the kid was grinning at him in the lantern light, chewing a stick of horehound candy, looking as bright-eyed and eager as a chipmunk.

  Lucas suppressed a sigh and pulled the canvas measuring tape across the window, while Travis held the heavy velvet curtains out of the way. It was at least the twelfth window they’d measured in the fifth hotel they’d visited so far tonight, though Lucas was starting to lose count. Somehow, the boy’s excitement and energy made him feel all the more trail-worn, tired... and older than his twenty-eight years.

  After double-checking the height and width, he motioned wearily for Travis to let the curtain fall shut. “This place’ll do.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it, sir.” Travis nodded as if in agreement, then perched on a nearby armchair, raising a cloud of dust. “So, uh... what’ll it do for, Marshal? I still don’t”—he sneezed so hard he almost put out his lantern—“reckon why you’d want to stay in one of these empty hotels, sir. Old man Dunlap never even finished this place. Just these here rooms he used for himself—”

  “It’ll do,” Lucas repeated tiredly, wadding up the measuring tape and shoving it in a pocket of his drover’s coat. He stepped back from the window and picked up his own lantern, raising it to study the suite he had chosen on the hotel’s first floor—a large bedchamber of about fifteen by twenty feet, with a smaller sitting room attached.

  The proprietor might not have finished the place, but he was obviously a wealthy sort with a taste for self-indulgence. The glow from Lucas’s lantern fell across flocked paper in shades of garnet and gold, and a hearth bordered in fancy tiles that took up most of one wall, beside the door. Across from the hearth sat a massive bed of burled walnut with a carved headboard that had to be six feet tall.

  It also seemed Dunlap treasured his privacy: The bedchamber had just two slender windows, to the left of the bed, both hung with crimson drapes. And the only way in or out was through the sitting room—which made it ideal for Lucas’s purpose.

  Scavengers had apparently helped themselves to the more portable, practical furnishings, but they had left behind the bed, the chair Travis was sitting on, a chest of drawers, and one overstuffed chaise longue.

  And an extravagant item that hung on the wall opposite the windows: a mirror in a gold frame, so huge it almost reached floor to ceiling. It reflected Lucas’s puzzled look back at him from the lamplit darkness. “Eccentric codger, is he?”

  “Dunlap? Sorta, I guess. Made a fortune in the mines hereabouts. Married himself a beautiful gal from Denver and started building this place for her as a weddin’ gift.” Travis crunched on the candy stick, swinging his foot so that it thumped the chair. “Bragged it was gonna rival the Teller House down in Central City—eight-course banquets, fancy balls, a millionaire in every room. He did up this here suite first and moved in with his wife while the rest was bein’ finished.”

  Lucas nodded, stifling a yawn as he headed into the sitting room. A bridal suite. That explained the desire for privacy. And the oversized bed.

  And, he thought, glancing back and arching one eyebrow, the oversized mirror. It reflected the full length of the bed perfectly.

  Randy devil, that Dunlap. “So why’d he never finish it?” Lucas stopped in the doorway between the two rooms, hunting in the pockets of his coat for a pad and pencil.

  “ ’Cause he went broke when the mines went bust, and his wife up and left him.”

  Lucas shook his head in pity. Poor, misguided fool, that Dunlap. “What a loyal and loving female,” he said dryly. He had started to think these accommodations too good for Antoinette Sutton—but maybe they suited her after all. She apparently had a few traits in common with the previous lady of the house.

  “She sure broke old Dunlap’s heart.” Travis stood and dusted off the seat of his pants. “When she packed her bags, he didn’t have it in him to finish the place, so he just locked the door and left it like this. Been up for sale for months.”

  The kid fell silent while Lucas leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb, making a sketch and jotting down the measurements he had taken. He also made a quick list of items he would need to buy, borrow, or scavenge.

  “Marshal McKenna, sir? Uh... do you think you could show me that trick you used to get past the lock? I surely would—”

  “Never mind that now, kid.” Lucas rubbed his bleary eyes, then finished adding a column of figures. “Where can I find this Dunlap?”

  “Don’t rightly know. Back east, south, wherever folks go when they leave here.” Travis scuffed one boot along the floor. “Hell, sir, ever’body with a lick of sense left this town months ago. I don’t know why my pa’s so danged set on stayin’ here and muckin’ out stables the rest of his life.”

/>   Lucas picked up his lantern and headed into the hotel’s main room, the boy following at his heels.

  “Marshal, I... I’d give my back teeth to get out of here. I always... Well, sir, it’s sorta been a plan of mine to get work down in New Mexico Territory or Tombstone or... or maybe even the Red River, like you. I know I’m young, but ain’t nobody in three counties a better shot than Travis Ballard. I think I’d make a mighty fine deputy marshal.”

  Lucas paused in the cavernous main room. The walls had been plastered, but not painted. His lantern revealed a long hotel desk of unfinished oak, a fireplace in the opposite wall, a scaffolding in one corner, a chandelier on the floor that had been delivered but never installed. “You partial to sunburns, dust storms, blisters, and saddle sores, boy?” He moved on to check the rest of the hotel.

  Travis stuck to him like glue. “Sir?”

  “It’s not all showdowns and shoot-outs like they say in the papers, kid.” Lucas could hear the fatigue in his own voice. “Federal marshal spends most of his time on the trail. No place to call your own but a room in a flophouse. Paid two dollars a day and six cents a mile, if you live long enough to collect it. And the only thing worse than the money is the food.” He stopped, turning to meet the kid’s gaze. “That sound real exciting to you?”

  The boy blinked up at him, looking like he’d just had a brightly wrapped Christmas package snatched from his hands. “But... but if it’s so... then why do you do it, sir?”

  Lucas furrowed his brow, unable to answer, surprised that he couldn’t. He hadn’t asked himself that question in years.

  All he could remember was one moment of time—bright and sharp as the point of a needle—that had filled him with a thirst for justice, a burning need to see right triumph over wrong. He’d been younger than Travis, that day when he’d learned that evil could wear a friendly face.

  They said they had food to share, and Lucas had let them in. Even though he and Ma were alone. He’d let them in.

  And then he’d heard his mother scream.

  “Defend the weak and the fatherless, do justice to the afflicted and needy, deliver them from the hand of the wicked,” he said softly.