by Sierra Rose
He had stopped pacing now, across the jail house floor; he stood still, staring blindly out the window into muted October sunshine a thousand years and a thousand miles from the crime.
“They put me in lockup, charged with murder.”
Paul, watching closely, carefully cleared his throat. “How did your lawman explain the fact that the Hutchins’ goods were missin’, and you didn’t have ’em?”
One shoulder lifted. “Figured somebody else come along after I’d already committed murder, and that’s the one that clonked me over the head and stole from me what I’d stole from them.”
“But you didn’t hear any gunshots first?”
“Nary a one.”
“So the real killers knocked you out initially, killed and robbed their victims, and then left evidence b’hind makin’ you the guilty one.”
The jerky motion of Reese’s throat indicated a hard swallow. “That’s about it.”
“D’joo have any enemies in town? Anybody with a grudge, wantin’ to take off with spoils and leave you swingin’ for it?”
Again the lift of one shoulder. “Not that I know of.”
Paul, writing busily, glanced up. “The marshal find you a lawyer?”
“Yeah.” He snorted. “Fine man. Told me to confess and take my punishment.”
How near a thing, Ben reflected, with a lump in his own throat, that he had almost lost his youngest brother as well, not to the travails of war but to the demands of everyday, ordinary living, complicated by one tragic event. And he hadn’t even been aware of how desperately the boy had needed him.
“Hate to’ve been that poor family, waitin’ up in the hills for their menfolk to come back, and never makin’ it,” said Gabriel thoughtfully. “Anybody let ’em know?”
“The marshal sent one of his men. Said the widow and kids were plannin’ a mass burial at the Queen of Light Cemetery, and asked how I liked bein’ responsible for such a tragedy.”
For a moment, no one spoke, picturing the scene and its implications.
“How’dja get away?” Ben finally managed to ask into the silence.
Reese, squinting a little as if the bright light hurt his eyes, returned to the chair he had vacated so abruptly and collapsed onto its sturdy frame. “Theo sprung me outa the hoosegow. She got a couplea good horses, put our things together in saddlebags, and walked in wavin’ a gun around, bold as brass.”
“Man,” Gabe said in pure admiration. “No flies on that girl. Reckon nobody was expectin’ that some mere female would pull off a jailbreak.”
“We lit outa town,” Reese continued, “and headed south. Got into some little place a hundred miles away, and found wanted posters already waitin’. And the local marshal comin’ t’ord us. So, away we went again, with the law on our tail. Only this time—this time...Theo didn’t make it.”
During their frantic escape to anywhere, the dance hall girl had been shot in the back. With her last breath, she had implored him to go on. When he refused, she commanded him. And died.
Here and now, some four years past the event, Reese’s sea-green eyes misted over and his words clotted up with regret. A few moments of silence paid tribute to the young woman who had given her life in an attempt to right this heinous wrong.
“I didn’t appreciate her, at the time, for all she tried to do for me,” he muttered.
Ben laid a gentle, reassuring hand on his brother’s forearm. “We never do, son.”
After a bit, while some bird sent a shrieking cry from its perch in an oak outside the door, and a loaded buckboard rumbled past, Gabriel asked about his next stay of residence, in Birdsong.
“Yeah. Found out the town was too small, though. ’Cause the poster found me there, too. Even with changin’ my name, I got a face that’s kinda hard to forget, y’ know.” Significantly, with one finger, he traced the line of that bayonet scar. “So I took off again. Figured Denver might be big enough to hide in.”
And so it was, for a short time. Then, serendipity. All the stars colluded—his ongoing desperate flight from wrongful accusation, his choice of a sanctuary city, his perusal of a newspaper’s personal ad, and his musing upon Ben Forrester’s supposed location—to bring him here, to Turnabout.
“I sent a telegram off to the marshal, out in San Francisco. One—” Paul consulted his notes, “—Hiram Westley.”
“Paul...” Ben groaned out a protest.
The sheriff looked up from under his brows, a long steady look. “I know you ain’t gonna tell me not to do my duty.”
A sigh. “No. No, o’ course not. It’s just...”
“I know. I wish I hadn’t had to pursue it. But it’s part of my job, Ben. It’s part of the law I swore to uphold. And, if we’re ever gonna get this mess straightened out for your brother, here, then we haveta get information and give information. We gotta clear his name.”
The purported outlaw, who had been thoughtfully plucking at a loose thread on the thigh of his woolen trousers, looked up with an unreadable expression. “Then you believe what I told you?”
“You’re Ben Forrester’s brother,” Paul studiously and calmly pointed out. “If nothin’ else than for his sake alone, I’d believe what you told me.”
“I know what kinda man you are,” was Ben’s simple response. “I would never doubt anything you said.”
“We all take you at your word, son,” Gabe chimed in, just for good measure.
No one could miss the inhalation and deep exhalation. “I’m mighty relieved by that, and I thank you for your trust in me. I’d also be mighty relieved to get the bounty hunters off my back.”
The other three men nodded slowly, almost simultaneously. That would be anyone’s express wish. Not just the fear of a bullet in the back, from some unnamed source. But Reese had plans. He wanted to get on with his life.
And that meant bringing him from darkness into light.
Chapter Sixteen
HE FOUND HER, NOT RESIDING at the boarding house, nor visiting with Camellia, nor even working in the doctor’s medical office, cutting and winding strips of gauze and rolling pills for his satchel.
No. Searching while urgently trying not to appear he was searching, Reese traveled up hill and down dale. He finally discovered the love of his life seated in a swing that had been installed at a corner of the rather overgrown patch that Gabriel fondly called his back yard.
Occasionally Reese had heard the phrase about one’s heart being caught in his throat. He had never dreamed that he might fall victim to that particular condition. Until now. As he stood in the late afternoon shadows just near the rear verandah and watched her, he thought she had never looked so beautiful. Or so poignantly, woefully sad.
She might have been a wood nymph, or a castled maiden come out of her turret down to earth. Not only in her sunshine-yellow dress with low-cut bodice, full loose sleeves shortened to the elbow, and trailing striped skirt that held, surprisingly, neither bustle nor hoop; but also in the few late-blooming, blood-red roses she had twined into her curly hair. This was an enchanted princess, waiting for her prince.
With both hands wrapped around the chains, she was pushing herself slowly back and forth—a little way forward, a little way back. Her gaze had absently fixed upon the towering bushes—something with a small fragrant pink flower; honeysuckle?—that rimmed the fence, shutting out observation from any passerby, offering privacy.
Letitia was so lost in her own thoughts that she became aware of his presence only when he appeared out of the blue behind her, clasping his hands over hers to stop the movement.
Immediately she sprang erect and out of the swing, whirling to face him. Her moonstone blue eyes, charmingly fringed, were dilated; her agitated bosom was lifting and swelling under the soft fabric of her gown. But she spoke not a word.
“Tish,” he said quietly. “Tish, darlin’.”
“No. That ploy won’t work any longer.” It would, and it did, but she refused to let him see her vulnerability. She refused to be
so susceptible to his wiles, ever again. Well. Maybe.
“Will you listen to me?”
Letty’s chin rose in the old imperious way. “You mean you actually have something to say?”
Involuntarily, Reese’s mouth quirked. “Well, I’ve got lots to say, now that I’ve spent a few hours unburdenin’ myself to the law. Feel like I’ve been skinned alive and hung out to dry.”
“And now you’ve come so I can help nurse you back to health?”
“Not so much. I’ve come so you can help me get back my soul.”
He had managed to breach the moat of her defenses, and climb an impregnable wall to reach her. Helpless tears gathered on her lashes, quivering like a butterfly’s wing, but did not yet fall. “Oh, Reese,” she whispered.
“Tish, sweetheart.”
Stepping out from behind the swing, he slowly lifted both arms, spread wide in invitation. She stared at him. Her tears overflowed, and her lips trembled. And then, with a soft little cry, she flung herself into his embrace.
For untold minutes they simply stood there, holding each other, in the waning afternoon light, with birdsong tweeting from the trees around them and a slight breeze wafting autumn fragrance through the air. Weeping in fluttery little gasps, Letitia grabbed onto his substantial frame as if she couldn’t get enough of the man she’d been afraid she’d lost. Laughing in relieved little gasps, Reese wrapped up her curves and laces like a beribboned gift box and held on tight.
One long, intoxicating kiss of passion and longing that stopped the breath and hurtled the heartbeat; then a hundred more, snatched frantically here and there, as if they had been separated for agonizing years instead of mere agitated days.
Finally, the senses ceased whirling and the stars stopped spinning, and they could share a moonstruck gaze, even while smiling a trifle sheepishly.
“Miss Burton, ma’am...you—you—”
“Mr. Barclay. Um—no, I do believe it’s Mr. Forrester. Yes?” After her fervent response to his overtures, how could she possibly look up at him from under her lashes so demurely, now, like a proper southern maiden?
“You sit—here.” Gently he pushed her down onto the wooden seat of the swing, hung from the thick branch of a hundred-year-old maple, and took a wary pace or two away. But he couldn’t help watching with interest and delight while she straightened the rosebuds he had displaced and the bodice he had disarranged.
“There.” She flashed her dimples. “Do I look properly virtuous again, in case someone should unexpectedly stop by?”
He cleared his throat. “Darlin’, I can’t begin to tell you what you look like. I only know I gotta stay far enough so I don’t put my hands on you.”
And so he did. Stay far enough away, that is. Almost.
Plopping down into the tangled grass at her feet, he stretched out his long legs and leaned back against the tree’s smooth trunk. “This is what happened,” he began.
Letitia sat quietly, listening without interruption as he related the chain of events, once again, that had led to the place where he was today. She moved occasionally, or frowned, or caught her breath, or bit her full lower lip, or let out a little sound of dismay. But she let him talk on, just as he had in the sheriff’s office, earlier.
At one point, Reese leaned forward to wrap his fingers around her stockinged ankle, as if he needed grounding and only touch would do. Particularly concerning one dance hall girl named Theodosia. If he deliberately glossed over that part, out of respect for Letty’s feelings, his oversight could be forgiven.
But Letty was no fool. She could read between the lines just as easily as anyone else. However, she let it go without question or comment. The traumatic incident was more than four years in the past. Reese might retain fond memories of his former female companion, of course; and she had saved his life at the cost of her own. So Letty, logical, reasonable Letty, was not about to cause a ruckus over some bit of history that could not be altered.
He also, of necessity, held back somewhat when it came to the wanted poster, the reward being offered, and the bounty hunters on his trail. No use dragging her into something so chancey, or to frighten her beyond what she could bear—not if she got to be too fearful to let him out the door. There, again, he underestimated his lady love. She was more aware of the dangers pressed upon the average citizen by the real world than he, who wanted only to shelter her, realized.
It was as he spoke fleetingly of finally escaping the cloud under which he had lived so long, that she could feel his clasp absently migrating north, up the contour of her calf to the firm hard knot of her knee, around which his fingers tightened. Or was it so absent, in fact?
With just a soft sigh, he had finished his recitation.
So she was able to reprove him with a, “Down, Mr. Forrester,” and gently remove his hand.
He looked up with the half-smile that had first won her heart. “Can’t blame a man for tryin’. So.”
Another sigh, this one of relief that so much, at least, had been shared. “There you have it.”
Leaning forward from her perch, Letty curved her palm along the puckered scar of his cheek. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened to you, Reese. And yet, I can’t be too sorry, because it brought you here to me. And this, all of this—was what you were dreading to tell me?”
“That’s about it. And it’s been hangin’ heavy over my head.”
“Oh, my dear Reese,” she whispered, with warmth and compassion. “It’s over now. You’re done. But I’m wondering just where that leaves us?”
“Where it leaves us,” he admitted ruefully, “is in limbo. Gotta get everything squared away, and come outa this a free man, b’fore I can face you again.”
Briefly he explained about Paul’s telegram to San Francisco, and the seeking of information there. He didn’t mention his brother’s alarm over the whole situation, or his wish that Reese would somehow find himself some kind of well-armed guardian until the crime had been solved.
“Limbo.”
He lifted his own right hand to cover hers, still resting with such tenderness along the side of his face. “You’re my intended, Tish. I want you for my wife. For sure, we’re gonna get married. Limbo means I just can’t say for sure when.”
“But, I—”
“This is an ugly thing, come forward outa the past. It’s shadowed my life for too long; I ain’t about to have it shadow yours, too. Please tell me you understand, darlin’,” he implored, “and that you’ll abide by what I ask.”
“You awful man.” She sniffed back another welling of tears. “Yes. I understand. I will abide by what you ask. But I won’t like it.”
That slow crooked smile again, as he looked up at her with a great surge of emotion almost choking off his words. “Well, I never expected you might be wantin’ to turn cartwheels. But this is a decision I’ve had to make for our future. We’ll get through this somehow, Letty. We’ll work it out, and things will be okay.”
“Oh, ho, so this is where you two have gotten to.”
Startled enough that she nearly toppled headfirst from the swing, both looked up with guilty expressions—although, thinking back on the moment later, Letitia saw no reason why either should have felt guilty. This had been a perfectly innocent meeting, hadn’t it? Or had it?
A pleasant dusk was stealing in, putting the sun to bed with stripey clouds of mauve and buttercup and azure, sending long purple shadows slowly but inexorably across what passed for a back yard. Fireflies were beginning to light their miniscule lamps here and there, and turtle doves were fluttering and cooing as they settled in for the night.
“Figured you’d be makin’ a beeline to find Miss Burton,” Gabriel, looming up in the sweet gathering semi-darkness, chuckled. “D’joo two get everything talked out?”
“For the moment,” Letty answered, as Reese clambered upright to greet the doctor on a level footing. “I apologize for taking possession of your property, Gabe, but we needed some time away from everyone. And
Reese was able to find me without any trouble.”
“Oh, I imagine this here boy has a homin’ button for you installed in his head by now. Gettin’ hungry? It’s after 7:00 and I need some vittles. Whyncha come along with me to the Sarsaparilla?”
Letty was learning. She glanced up at her betrothed, questioning. He shrugged and nodded.
“All right, then,” said Gabe, pleased. “Just lemme go inside and clean up first and then we can head on over. On the way, I’ll tell you all about a patient I’ve been worried about for the last couplea days. You’ll find the case interestin’, Nurse Letty.”
Rising from the swing’s wooden seat, Letitia brushed off her skirt. “Is it something with which I can help?”
“You could, except that what I feared was diphtheria has turned out to be just a bad headache and fever. The fellah is makin’ a miraculous recovery, as we speak.”
Chapter Seventeen
NOW BEGAN THE WAITING time.
San Francisco’s marshal, Hiram Westley, took several days to reply to Paul’s brief telegram. He thanked the sheriff for his diligence in capturing an elusive criminal, way out in southern Texas, assured his fellow law officer that he would immediately look into the case pending against young Cole Forrester, and very much appreciated the fact that this miscreant was safely cooling his heels behind bars (fat chance).
Reese, once this news was reported to him, had glumly shoved both wrists together and held them forward, in an attitude of surrender.
“What’s all this?” a surprised sheriff wanted to know.
“Lockup. Me bein’ so dangerous, and all, reckon you’d be wantin’ to haul me in off the streets and into a jail cell.”
Paul snorted and waved him away. “Get outa here and go do somethin’ constructive.”
It is difficult to be patient under trying circumstances, when the world may fall down around your ears at any minute. It is difficult to remain optimistic about an uncertain future, and to remain hopeful that the dreams you once had might still come true.
