The Jewel: The Malloy Family, Book 11

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The Jewel: The Malloy Family, Book 11 Page 22

by Beth Williamson


  The incident had taken place right after Selma came to town. She’d been terrified when the gang of bank robbers shot Sheriff Tate’s young wife. What kind of town had she chosen to live in anyway? The unfortunate woman lingered several days and then died along with her baby. The entire town mourned and demanded justice. When two years later the sheriff found love and married again, Selma had been more than pleased. She’d even helped make his new wife’s wedding dress. Starling Tate was now eight months along and Selma’s best friend.

  She glanced down at the timepiece on her bodice. Matter of fact, she was due at the sheriff’s spread right now. Past due.

  US Marshal Sam Dunaway tied his horse to the hitching post in front of the sheriff’s office and surveyed the small town of Kenton Valley. Typical of most small Texas towns, it had a church, a general store, dry goods, and two saloons. Down at the far end of the street was a school, where he heard the excited shouts of children playing some game or other.

  He brushed the fine yellow dust from his oilskin duster and was ready to step onto the walk when a scrawny, redheaded boy ran up.

  “Marshal! Are ya a-going to hang that feller what shot the sheriff’s missus?”

  He gave the boy his sternest expression. “Not without a trial first.”

  “He’s guilty. Ever’body says so. I wanna see him swing.”

  So young and so bloodthirsty. Sam shook his head. “I suspect your mama will keep you home that day. If you were mine, I would.”

  The boy shifted from one foot to the other. “Dang it. Hey, I’m gonna be a lawman when I grow up.”

  “That’s mighty fine, kid. Say, what’s your name?”

  The kid puffed out his chest. “William Robert Rasmussen, but folks call me Billy.”

  “Well, Billy, being a lawman is a tough job. Need to be smart—”

  “And fast with a gun.” The kid did an imaginary quick draw.

  “Being smart’s more important.” Sam hunkered down to the boy’s level. “How come you aren’t in school?”

  Billy screwed his face into a frown. “School’s stupid.”

  “Not so. If you want to be a lawman, you gotta go to school. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Really?” His eyes widened in surprise.

  “Really. Now go on. Git.”

  Shaking his head, Sam stood and watched until he was sure the boy had reached the end of the street. Damnation. What was it with kids today? In a hell of a hurry to grow up, when these were the best times of their lives.

  He opened the door to the sheriff’s office and nodded. “Sheriff Cordero Tate?”

  The sheriff nodded. “Cord’ll do.” The sheriff was tall and broad shouldered and showed no signs of his prior tragedy. He rose and offered his hand.

  Sam took it. “I’d like to see the prisoner and how he’s housed.”

  Tate stood and opened the door leading off the main room. It led to the cellblock, containing two cells. Only one was occupied. Barnes was stretched out, apparently asleep on the bunk—as if in a few days he wouldn’t be sleeping forever.

  Sam turned and walked back to the outer office. “Appears you have a sturdy enough jail. Any chance the rest of his gang might try and break him out?”

  “I’ve got two trustworthy deputies. Besides”—the sheriff shook his head—“the gang’s leader was killed last summer. The rest of ’em splintered after that. ’Course, you never know. Catching Barnes here was more of an accident than anything. He couldn’t resist visiting his sick mama. Thought he might show up, so we took turns keeping an eye on the Barnes homestead.”

  “Smart thinking. If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who killed their leader, Tyler?” Not to mention the sheriff’s new wife was half sister to the ringleader. Wonder that didn’t complicate matters.

  “That’s right.” Tate sat, gesturing for Sam to pull up a chair.

  A man of few words. Good. Removing his Stetson, Sam hooked the toe of his boot around a chair leg, dragged it over and straddled it. Now they could get down to the business of the trial. “I need a place to hold the trial. Any suggestions?”

  “Haven’t had much call for trials till now. There’s the school or the church or the saloon.”

  “Good. I’ll check ’em out. Prefer a neutral ground over the saloon. Any chance we’ll find twelve sober men come trial time?”

  Tate shrugged. “If you’d rather move the trial to a bigger town, it won’t hurt my feelings none.”

  Sam shook his head. “I’m here to see he gets one. Don’t care if it’s fair or not. That’s up to the judge, not me.” He stood and settled the Stetson on his head. “I’ll head over to the church, then to the school. Let you know which one I decide.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Any word on when the judge will arrive?”

  “Few days. He’s presiding over a trial in Llano.” He headed to the door, then stopped. “The livery?”

  “Livery stables are behind the boarding house at the north end of town. Miz Foley oughta be able to fix you up while you’re here.” Tate jerked his head in the direction of the cells. “She provides meals for the prisoner, and she’s a damn fine cook.”

  Sam touched the brim of his hat, nodding his appreciation.

  Outside, he untied and mounted his horse, then headed north, passing the general store and dry goods. He glimpsed the tall, slender figure of a woman standing in the window of the dry goods store, a sudden apparition that had him twisting around in his saddle to get a better look. But his horse had other ideas and kept heading north.

  Damn. She looked familiar, so familiar his heart sped up and his mouth went dry as sand. Just the memory of their loving stiffened his prick. But it couldn’t be Celine. His wife had burned to death in a boardinghouse fire almost three years ago.

  When the news of her death had finally reached him, he’d still been too angry to grieve. She never would’ve died if she’d stayed home where she belonged instead of running off with his life savings. Served the bitch right—that was what he’d thought at the time.

  But now… If this woman really was Celine and not someone who was her spitting image, what he wouldn’t give to bed his wife one last time before he locked up her low-down, thieving ass.

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  The Jewel

  Copyright © 2014 by Beth Williamson

  ISBN: 978-1-61922-444-5

  Edited by Amy Sherwood

  Cover by Kim Killion

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: August 2014

  www.samhainpublishing.com

 

 

 


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