by Megan Besing
“You want the article on the robber’s escape, too?” the man called.
“He escaped?” She hoped she could convincingly feign surprise.
The man nodded. “Yes, ma’am. The marshals were swarming all over town yesterday, hunting him.”
“Yes, please.” She’d read it to be sure Del was as trustworthy as he seemed. If the articles portrayed him as a man who’d shot and killed guards during his escape from the marshals, she’d…she’d…
Jolie stifled a laugh. If he’d killed lawmen or harmed anyone in his escape, she would march herself into the sheriff’s office, explain the situation, and tell them right where to find Del. Once captured, she could have the judge annul their marriage prior to him being shipped to Yuma. In fact, little was stopping her from doing that now.
Little, other than the whole idea set her nerves on edge. Unlike Brand, Del didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was kind, gentle, and concerned. He had nothing in common with the outlaws she was used to. They were cut from much different cloth.
The newspaperman laid out the four slim editions. “This one’s about the robbery, this one the capture. The trial, and the robber’s escape.” He pointed to each in turn.
She slid the small bill across the counter to him. He stepped away to make change.
“Did they catch the man?”
He counted her change. “No, ma’am. Some are still searching in town. The rest rode into the countryside.”
Jolie’s belly knotted as she folded the newspapers together. “Would a criminal really return to the scene of his crime?”
“They thought they’d cornered him at the church yesterday, but he slipped away.” He stowed the cash box and approached. “They’re unsure where he’s gone, but they aren’t giving up.” The man’s brows furrowed. “What’d you say your name was, ma’am?”
Wary, she took the change. “I didn’t. Why do you ask?”
“You match the description of a woman the sheriff’s looking for. Is your name Miss…”
Jolie’s heart seized. Why on earth would the Meribah sheriff be asking for her by name?
“…Holland?” He stretched out the name, unsure. “No, Miss…Heller? That’s not it.” When he scurried to his desk for a scrap of paper, Jolie shoved through the office door.
“Hilliard. That’s it. Are you Jolie Hill—?”
The door slammed, cutting off the question. Down the street, across from the stable, Del waited. At the sight, she turned and hurried the other way.
If the marshals were still searching the town, they’d be looking for Del’s rumpled plaid shirt and tattered hat, so he’d changed into Lovell’s suit pants and shirt and the preacher’s hat. Doubtful that the change of clothes would hide his identity for long. A haircut, shave, and fresh clothes would go only so far. By now, they could’ve figured out he’d pretended to be the groom and be looking for a dark suit.
No matter what, it was risky, sitting in plain view. After weeks in the local jail, the Meribah sheriff would know him. The marshals were embarrassed and looking to recapture him—quick. And anyone who’d seen his joke of a trial could easily recognize him.
They’d be just as happy to spill his blood as garner his surrender.
Regardless, he’d positioned himself where he could see Jolie, protect her if Brand found her. Del shot a discreet glance toward the newspaper office. He’d seen her step into the building, but it was taking far longer than he’d expected.
Lord, is everything all right?
The office door opened and slammed shut, Jolie glancing his way. When she turned suddenly and scrambled in the opposite direction, he craned his neck to follow her path.
An instant later, a short man in a brown suit stepped out, locked up, and trotted after her.
Warning bells clanged in Del’s thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Pulling the preacher’s hat low, he marched after them.
Chapter 8
Jolie’s heart pounded. If the town’s sheriff was asking for her by name, it meant trouble. Del didn’t need more difficulty, especially with the marshals nearby. One problem…where could she go? She knew the pastor and his wife, but they’d left town. Brand had probably tracked her here and, knowing him, he’d probably walked into the lawman’s office, given a false name, and feigned concern for his dear sister. She couldn’t let him find her. Nor could she lead Brand to Del. Even their mistaken attachment to each other could cost Del his life.
If, by some chance, Brand hadn’t found her, the next logical explanation was they’d figured out her association with Del. Either way, this meant trouble for her unintended groom. Trouble she dared not lead to the kind Colorado gentleman.
She turned down an alley, zigzagging around crates and refuse. Glancing around, she unbuttoned her dress bodice, tucked the newspapers inside, and rebuttoned the fabric. She must think, find a way to signal Del. Once hidden in the mountains, they could make a plan. Staying in town wasn’t an option—for either of them.
Jolie emerged from the alley. This street was busier than the last, two separate groups of men congregating on the boardwalk, deep in conversation. Among the nearest group, she recognized one of the marshals who’d interrupted her wedding. Perspiration prickled across her skin as the newspaperman rounded the corner a block down. She ducked back into the alley, praying neither man saw her, and retraced her steps to the previous street.
At the sight of Del only a short distance from her, she gave a tiny shake of her head and mouthed the word run. His brows knitted in confusion. Before they drew attention, she darted into a small mercantile.
Would he understand, do as she’d said? Doubtful.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” the clerk asked.
Jolie approached the counter, mind churning. “I…wonder if…I could borrow a pencil.”
The man’s face puckered. “A pencil?”
She laughed. “Something important crossed my mind. I need to write it down before I forget.”
“Oh. Happens to me all the time. Here.” He produced pencil and paper from behind the counter.
She scribbled. Get out. Posse near. Meet at last night’s camp.
Paper in hand, she thanked the clerk and darted outside, crumpling the page. As suspected, Del waited nearby. Without a passing glance, she walked by and dropped the crumpled ball near his feet.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” Del called as she passed. “You dropped something.”
Jolie’s footsteps faltered. Couldn’t he just read the note? The more contact they had, the more likely someone would pair them. She turned, smiling politely. “Did I?”
“Appears so.” He held out the wadded paper.
Smile faltering, she reached for it, whispering. “I’ll toss it in the alley. Read it.” Taking the paper, she reasserted her smile. “You’re very kind, sir.”
Jolie carried on, dropping the paper ball in the next alley then hurrying down the street. If she could walk out of town and straight toward the mountains, she could cover those few miles in far less than an hour. Del might even catch up to her on horseback, though if the marshals really were looking for her, it was best not to be seen together. As Jolie reached the middle of the nearest intersection, an unfamiliar voice rang out. “Jolie Hilliard! A word, please?”
At the mouth of the alley, Del stepped into the narrow passageway and retrieved the wadded paper. He smoothed it and read, the simple message causing his heart to pound. He crumpled the paper and stood.
Jolie’s skittishness made sense now. He felt it, too. Resisting the urge to scan the street, he braced a hand against the nearest building. Lord, show me where the posse is.
“Jolie Hilliard! A word, please?”
Sheriff Matthew Waight’s familiar voice split the air from down the street, and something like lightning crackled through Del’s body. He peeked at Jolie as she faced the lawman who came into view beyond the corner storefront. Del slipped deeper into the alley.
Tarnation. What’d the sheriff want with Jolie? An
d how’d he know her name?
How much simpler would it be to slip out of town and forget Miss Jolie Hilliard? Far too late for that. She’d captured a piece of his heart, and it was growing harder not to willingly hand her the rest.
Lord, reckon I don’t have to tell You this is bad. Real bad. You want me to protect her, then You’re gonna have to see to me.
Chapter 9
Jolie’s limbs trembled as she faced the man who’d called out, though she cringed inwardly. She shouldn’t have reacted to her real name if she wanted to keep her anonymity. Lord, help.
The man approached the corner of the boardwalk, star-shaped badge on his chest and a gun on his hip. Likely the Meribah sheriff.
Jolie met his gaze. “Are you speaking to me?”
“I am, Miss Hilliard.” He approached.
“I’m sorry.” She swallowed. No moisture reached her parched throat. “That’s not my name.”
Grasping her elbow, he escorted her across the intersection. “There’s a gent in my office who’s mighty fired up to find a woman matching your description.”
She drew back, her blood curdling. Lord, not Brand. “I…I’m sorry, Sheriff. My name is not Josie—”
“Jolie. Hilliard.” He skewered her with a glance.
It took concentration to steady her voice. “As I said, that’s not my name.”
His expression turned grim. “Hmm. Too bad. That fella’s bride has gone missing, and he’s mighty concerned something’s befallen her.”
She covered her mouth. Frank, not Brand. Relief washed through her, though until Del cleared his name and they saw the judge, she—
The lawman’s amused expression warned she was reacting too openly. “The man’s bride is missing? That’s…terrible.”
“Ain’t it? There’s an escaped prisoner roaming these parts, and the marshals witnessed a gal fitting your description getting hitched at the church yesterday.” His pointed stare bored through her. “They’re thinking the groom was their prisoner.”
Knees soft, she fought to remain upright. “You must be joshing.”
“No, Miss Hilliard, I’m not.”
She swallowed. “I told you, Sheriff, I’m not Josie Hilliard.”
“What’s your name, then?”
Jolie’s mind churned. “Katherine. Adelaide.”
“Adelaide’s your last name?”
“No, Cooper. Katherine Adelaide Cooper. From Texas.”
The sheriff smirked. “Whereabouts in Texas?”
She must stop this. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I’d love to continue these parlor games, but I’ve important business. Unless you are detaining me, I must go.”
“Parlor games.” He chuckled. “I get it. Twenty Questions. You’re funny, Miss Hilliard.”
“Cooper.”
“My mistake.” The smile trickled from his lips. “Be careful, what with that bank robber on the loose. Perhaps I should escort you, be sure nothing happens to you.”
“That’s unnecessary, Sheriff. I’m quite capable of caring for myself, thank you. I’ll be on my way.”
“Suit yourself, ma’am. So you know, the wanted fella’s got blond hair and light eyes, about my height. When he stayed in my jail, he had a scraggly beard, but the marshals think he may’ve shaved.”
Fear clawed her spine. They knew too much. “I’ll keep watch. Good day, Sheriff.” She started toward the livery.
“Good day, Miss Hilliard.”
“That’s Cooper.” Spine straight, Jolie walked purposefully toward the stable. The newspaperman said that the marshals were combing the countryside, but there were a few left in town as well. The sheriff knew—or strongly suspected—she had ties to Del. They must find somewhere secure to plan their next steps, and fast.
At the livery, she glanced back. The sheriff watched from the corner, unabashedly. Nodding to him, she slipped inside.
“I need a horse, please,” she informed the stable hand.
She chose a sturdy little paint mustang and some well-worn gear. As the stable hand saddled the horse, she removed another bill from her dress’s hem. She paid then led the horse outside.
On the street, her muscles tensed. The roan still stood in the sun. Del hadn’t made it back. Not good, though the lawman had finally left. She mounted and turned toward the mountains, resisting her inclination to spur the paint into a gallop.
Some distance from Meribah, she faced the town and found a suit-clad man on a chestnut horse following her. Del. He’d made it after all. Jolie turned toward the mountains, and this time, urged the animal into an easy canter. Hopefully he’d keep his distance until they were safely in the mountains.
Yet, as she rode, fast-approaching hoofbeats drummed behind her. The rider had closed the distance, and as she looked his way, he called to her.
“Jolie?”
Not Del’s soothing baritone.
“Stop. It’s Frank,” he called. “Or would you rather I call you Katherine Adelaide Cooper?”
Del had watched the interchange between Jolie and Sheriff Waight from the alley, though their words were too distant for him to hear. She’d done a right fine job of keeping her fear tamped down, but the discussion had obviously rattled her. With good reason, given the way the sheriff watched her even after she’d moved on.
It rattled him aplenty, the sheriff standing there minutes after Jolie departed. He was trapped. His roan was tied at the far end of the street, but Waight wouldn’t budge. Skin crawling, Del waited for the sheriff to look away then crossed the street to another alley. From there, he navigated to the next street and, scanning for badges, proceeded toward the livery.
As he neared, two of Waight’s regular deputies rounded a corner. One had been kind enough to mail Del’s letter home to his ma. Would he recognize Del? Del paused at a store window and, realizing it was a gunsmith’s shop, ducked inside. They needed extra bullets for Jolie’s gun anyway.
The clerk approached, but before he spoke, the door opened again, and the deputies entered, standing between him and the door. Every nerve crackled.
“Help you?” the man behind the counter asked.
Del shook his head. “Just lookin’.” He spoke in a deep voice so neither deputy would recognize it.
“Let me know what ya need.”
Del moved toward the far end of the counter, eyeing the newcomers. Lord, get me out of this store. Fast.
“What can I do for you fellers?” the man called to the deputies.
“We got an escaped prisoner, and I’m nearly out of ammunition, Eugene.” The man approached. “Gimme two boxes for my Peacemaker.”
Del’s heart pounded as the clerk rang up the bullets. He hoped the two lawmen might go once Eugene pushed the bullets and change across the counter, but no such luck. The deputy opened a box and, drawing his Colt, loaded the gun while chattering about Del’s escape.
Abandoning hope of outwaiting the deputies, Del turned toward the door.
“Didn’t see anything you liked, mister?”
“Not today.” He put a rasp into his voice. The lawmen glanced his way as he shoved through the door.
Had they recognized him? He couldn’t tell. Nor would he wait to find out. He stalked up the street, cutting back to the road where the livery—and his roan—were. Finding no sign of Jolie, his muscles quaked.
Lord, did she get away safe? Can I skedaddle now, or…
In the distance, two mounted figures rode out of town. The farther, a woman—hopefully Jolie. The nearer, some gent in a dark suit, headed in the same direction.
Del tightened the cinch and, swinging into the saddle, headed after the pair.
Chapter 10
Jolie looked back. Should she stop? If she did, she’d have a lot to explain to Frank. He might decide she wasn’t worth the trouble. If she could somehow outride him, she’d afford herself time to help Del and get the legalities sorted out, but…would Frank forgive her? Lord, help. You know I never intended on marrying the wrong man. Make Frank understand th
is is all a mix-up. She slowed.
Frank rode up. “Jolie?”
She gulped. “Yes, I’m Jolie.”
“Thank the stars!” Relief washed over his features as he dismounted and strode to her side. He plucked Jolie from her saddle and settled her before him, hands on her shoulders. “Why’d you lie to the sheriff?”
Hesitating, Jolie shook her head. “Where were you? I waited at the church the other day, but you never showed.”
“I was unavoidably detained.” Cupping her hand in his, he lifted her palm to his lips. Sunlight glinted on his hand, though she couldn’t discern why.
A shiver gripped her, and she tried to pull free. When he held her fast but lowered their entwined hands again, she cleared her throat. “Detained by what?” What was so all-fired important he’d missed their wedding?
Frank shook his head. “The marshals are in town searching for an escaped bank robber. They tracked him to the Meribah church and said a wedding did take place. A redheaded woman married a blond fella in a dark suit. When I showed up asking after you, they realized the groom was him, clean-shaven and hair cut. You know anything about that, Jolie?”
Her knees going weak, she reached for her saddle horn for support. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I thought he was you. He said he was…. He was blond-haired and light-eyed, same as you, and about your same size. The suit fit him so well, I never thought to question—”
He gaped. “You did marry that thief.”
Her hackles stood on end, and she squared her shoulders. “Del Adler’s no thief. There’s good reason to believe he’s been framed.”
“You know his name?”
The snarl that was Frank’s question rubbed her all wrong. “Yes I do. In fact, I’m helping him find the real robber and clear himself.”
Frank landed a backhanded blow along her cheekbone.
Jolie toppled, her pony darting sideways. Pain throbbed through her face, and her skin stung as she pressed shaky fingers to her cheekbone. When she pulled her hand back, her fingers were bloody. She glared, astonishment and anger warring for control.
