by Nan Ryan
Natalie glared at him but moved closer, casting a quick glance over her shoulder at the dozing jailer. In a soft voice she said, "Mr. Covington, I've come to… to see if your cell is secure. To check on your accommodations. To be assured you've been properly fed."
"Beefsteak, mashed potatoes, snap beans, biscuits, cherry pie, and plenty of hot coffee. I appreciate your concern," said Kane, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tight trousers as he moved away. His deep, drawling voice held a scornful inflection.
"A little respect for my office, if you please, Mr. Covington!" Natalie's green eyes flashed in the dimness and she stepped closer, gripping one of the bars with her right hand.
He was back facing her before the words were out of her mouth. "Say what's really on your mind, Your Honor." His lean fingers swiftly snaked through the bars and wrapped themselves around her wrist.
Irritation turning to alarm, Natalie hissed, "Let go of me or I'll—"
"You'll what?" he taunted coldly, refusing to release her. "Wake the jailer and tell him you couldn't resist a visit with the prisoner?" He smiled then, his quick blue eyes scanning her face. The smile fled as swiftly as it appeared. "Do you often visit the men incarcerated in the county jail?" His fingers continued to hold her, not tightly but securely. She refused to struggle and relinquish more of her dignity than she'd already lost.
"No." She looked him in the eye. "I do not."
"I thought not." His thumb absently rubbed the soft inside of her wrist. "We both know the reason for your visit."
"Do we?" She lifted her chin defiantly.
He was nodding his dark head. "Your Honor, if you were the first young lady who had come to me in secret to ask that I remain silent about an indiscretion, I might be—"
"I don't have to listen to your insults."
"Who's insulting you?" He was smiling again, a wide, infuriating grin that was somehow intensely cruel. "I'm saying you can relax. I'm not going to tell the good townsfolk that the honorable Judge Natalie Vallance, respected magistrate of Castleton County and revered fiancée of the noble Lord Blackmore, spent a sultry night in—"
"Damn you, Kane Covington." She snatched her wrist free. "Tell anything you please!"
"No, Your Honor," he said softly, in that cultivated southern voice she so loathed and which was so at odds with the chisel-featured face that had gone cold and expressionless, the blue eyes bleak and somber. "I should expose you to the man who foolishly loves you, but I won't." He fell silent then, looking at her. Natalie felt she would never forget the icy contempt she saw in his cold eyes.
"I shall—"
"Tell him yourself?" Kane cut in on her. "No, you won't."
Natalie glared at him, but had no reply. Tension hung heavy in the air; the two of them looked at each other with a mixture of extreme distaste and undeniable attraction.
Natalie felt the magnetic pull of this dark, strange man who spoke to her with such scorn. Revolted by her own weakness, she took out her disgust on him.
Stepping closer, she said through gritted teeth, "Covington, you, are a southern killer who will be brought to justice at my hands! Think about that tonight when you're trying to sleep!"
Kane smiled lazily and every line, every bone and muscle of his lean body bespoke repose. "As I recall, Justice Vallance, those judicial hands brought this southern killer to ecstasy. Think about that tonight when you're trying to sleep."
"I'll see you in court!" Natalie snapped heatedly, and left the man laughing confidently behind her.
Seething, she swept into the outer room, past the jailer's desk. Then she stopped, turned around, and shoved his big, booted feet to the floor, rudely waking him. "You're supposed to be guarding a man accused of murder. Wake up and do it!"
The big jailer blinked and nodded and watched the violent swish of the angry judge's skirts as she stormed out into the night.
In his cell, Kane, still chuckling, stretched out once again upon his narrow bunk. The haughty judge had had a shock when she looked up and saw him this morning; she had an even bigger one coming in tomorrow's hearing.
Kane's smile fled and his eyes grew hard.
Seeing her had been a shock for him too. Joe South had told him that the Castleton County judge was a beautiful, genteel lady who was engaged to the community's most illustrious citizen, the respected, wealthy Lord Ashlin Blackmore. Joe had told him that Lord Blackmore was the only gentleman who'd managed successfully to court the pristine judge.
Joe said that many a miner, cowboy, circuit attorney, and even one preacher had tried and failed to find favor with the lovely Natalie Vallance. But the judge was ever the lady. She'd loved her dead husband very much and had remained true to his memory for years. Lord Blackmore had come to Cloudcastle a couple of years ago and it had taken him half that time to persuade Mrs. Vallance to accept his invitations. Now the pair were inseparable and were planning a wedding within the year.
Kane grimaced in the moonlight.
Was there an honest female to be found? Were they all like his angelic-faced Susannah? He sighed and patted his breast pocket, searching for a cigar. Apparently, the lovely judge was no different from the cold, conniving little belle who'd betrayed him.
Teeth grinding, Kane was up off the cot, swift as a cat. And like a caged tiger, he paced restlessly about the small cell, his face hard in the moonlight, his mind filled with thoughts of a beautiful, lying enchantress.
Kane drew on the cigar, squinting at the smoke swirling up into his eyes. All at once he ceased pacing and shook his dark head, bewildered. The lovely face in his thoughts, he realized with surprise, was not Susannah's sweet, heart-shaped countenance with the big dark eyes and dark, bouncing curls.
It was a fragile, high-cheekboned face with enormous emerald eyes, a proud small nose, and softly curved lips. And the hair was not dark at all, it was a glorious red-gold hue that, when unloosed, fell softly about ivory shoulders almost to a narrow waist.
Kane cursed softly and tossed his cigar out the one high, barred window. He flung himself onto his bunk and dismissed both fair feminine faces from his thoughts. Within minutes, Kane Covington was asleep.
Sleep was more elusive for Natalie Vallance. It had been that way for a month. Since the dark, hot night at Spanish Widow. In all of her life, Natalie had never knowingly done anything to hurt another human being. She'd made mistakes, as all mortals must, but never had she carried within herself a guilt for deeds committed, then hidden.
She did now, and she would always. It had been bad enough before today, now it was near to unbearable. To look up and see the face of the outlaw she'd… she'd… and then to have him accuse her of being fraudulent and…
Natalie groaned in the moonlight. His accusations had hit home. She was every bit as bad as he said. She, an engaged woman, had behaved disgracefully with a total stranger, a hardened criminal. And now he had turned up in her life, his burning blue eyes denouncing her, shaming her.
Natalie flung her slender arms up over her head and bit her lip. Was the man a murderer? According to the prosecuting attorney, he'd shot and killed Jimmy Ray Leatherwood on a July day on Promontory Point above Cloud West; her own property. She'd been in Santa Fe for the summer; a circuit judge had filled in for her while she enjoyed her stay with Metaka and her family. She'd heard nothing of the shooting.
After she'd been rescued and had returned to Cloudcastle, she'd been told of the murder. But she had no idea that the man she had made love to at Spanish Widow was responsible for Leatherwood's death. Vaguely she recalled Ashlin mentioning Kane Covington, but the name meant nothing to her.
Natalie's tortured mind continued to spin until, much, much later, she drifted toward the welcome release of slumber. Half asleep, Natalie jumped violently.
A graphic vision had flickered past her closed eyelids. She was looking into the deep blue eyes of Kane Covington as she handed down the sentence of death by hanging.
Natalie bolted upright in bed. Would she be the one res
ponsible for closing those beautiful blue eyes for eternity? "Dear God," she murmured in the moonlight, "how much guilt can I bear?"
Chapter Six
The following morning, the Seth Thomas walnut-cased clock on top of Natalie's desk chimed softly. The judge looked up; it was 9:00 a.m. Dressed in her black robe with her flaming hair secured severely at the back of her head, Natalie drew a deep breath, rose, and opened the door of her chambers. She entered the noisy courtroom and gracefully climbed the three steps to the tall bench. There was only standing room available in the large courtroom. Tall windows, spaced two feet apart, were thrown open. Curious faces peered through each one as men jostled and jockeyed for a better look at the dark outlaw responsible for the death of the wild and rowdy Jimmy Ray Leatherwood.
Purposely keeping her eyes from the black-haired man standing behind the defense table, Natalie looked out at the crowd and noticed several well-dressed ladies seated among the men. She swiftly noted the expressions on their faces were not ones of disgust and condemnation. More than one feminine face was flushed with color. The women preened and patted their curls and waved fancy fans before their blushing cheeks, engaging in the age-old ritual of flirtation. Sensible, prim ladies were behaving like foolish females in the presence of the virile defendant.
Natalie was disgusted.
She rapped the heavy gavel loudly, and brought the room to order.
"Be seated," said Natalie in a clear, sure voice. The shuffling, coughing, and whispering tapered off as the curious took their seats, eager for the trial to commence. Natalie sat down, touched the sheaf of papers before her, and announced, "The first and only case on this morning's docket is the Territory of Colorado versus Kane Covington." Her green eyes lifted.
Looking down from the bench, she said, "Charges have been brought by one Damon Lee Leatherwood, Cloudcastle, Colorado Territory, against the defendant, Kane W. Covington, state of Mississippi." Pointedly, she looked at the territorial prosecutor's table, where the smugly confident county attorney, Douglas Matthews, was leaning eagerly forward in his chair.
Then her eyes went to the defendant's table. Kane Covington, slouched in an almost disrespectful pose, was there alone, the chair beside him once again empty. Natalie bit the inside of her bottom lip and cleared her throat.
"Does the defendant wish to have a county attorney appointed by the bench?"
"No, Your Honor," Kane said smoothly. He rose agilely, and added, "May it please the court, defendant asks permission to approach the bench."
"The defendant may approach the bench along with the prosecutor." Big Doug Matthews bounded noisily from his chair and lumbered forward, arriving at the tall podium before Kane stepped up beside him.
"Mr. Covington?" Natalie questioned quietly.
"Your Honor," Kane responded, "I wish to act in my own defense and as such I request a trial by jury."
Natalie's mouth gaped open while Doug Matthews boomed, "Don't be absurd, Covington. You aren't qualified to act as counsel in your own defense."
Ignoring the big man at his elbow, Kane said softly to Natalie, "Your Honor, I'm duly qualified. I passed the bar examination in my home state of Mississippi and practiced there until the onset of the War Between the States."
He may as well have waved a red flag before a raging bull. Green eyes snapping angrily, Natalie said under her breath, "You mean the War of the Rebellion, Mr. Covington?" The image of his tall, lean frame wearing Confederate gray flashed before her eyes; vividly she could see him, musket in hand, blue eyes cold, killing Union troops.
"As you will, Your Honor, nonetheless, I am, in fact, an attorney. I mean to act in my own defense and I am asking for a trial by jury."
"Can he do that?" Doug Matthews scratched his head.
"May it please the court," Kane spoke up, giving her no opportunity to answer, "and my esteemed colleague, the prosecutor." He glanced briefly at Matthews. "The fact is that every person accused of a capital crime must be granted trial by jury, under the United States Constitution and the statutes of the sovereign Territory of Colorado."
"But we ain't sure You're a citizen, Covington." Matthews looked from Kane to Natalie. "Did you sign your allegiance to the United States of America after the war? If you didn't, then you can't—"
"I signed nothing, Mr. Matthews, nor do I intend to do so at this late date. I'm instructed that regardless of my loyalties, I am entitled to a trial by jury." He looked at Natalie. "Am I in error, Your Honor? Will I be punished for an alleged act committed on the soil of the Territory of Colorado without so much as a fair jury trial?"
"Counsel for the defense is well informed," Natalie said grudgingly. "You are entitled to a trial by jury." She picked up the gavel and promptly brought it down, announcing, "Court will be recessed for an hour. The defendant, Kane W. Covington, is herewith bound over for trial by jury under the purview of this court."
At Natalie's bidding, the bailiff hurried outside to round up veniremen from the crowds of miners and ranchers on the courthouse square. Exactly one hour later, a jury was empanelled and Big Doug Matthews, the county attorney, strutted before the jury box, thumbs hooked into the arm-holes of his vest, proclaiming boldly that the great Territory of Colorado would swiftly prove the charges brought against the defendant, Kane W. Covington.
At the conclusion of his opening speech, Douglas Matthews felt self-satisfied. He took his seat and cast a smiling glance at Kane Covington. "Will the defense come forward and make his opening remarks," Natalie said to Kane. He shook his dark head. "Defense waives that right, Your Honor."
The first prosecution witness was called to the box. Damon Lee Leatherwood, brother of the deceased, swaggered up the aisle. His broad, ugly face wore a smirk as he stood by the box and took the oath.
Doug Mathews walked to the box, smiled at the witness, and said, "Did you and your younger brother, Jimmy, encounter a stranger in the high country above Cloudcastle—the Vallance property—on July 8, 1872?"
"We did."
"What did this trespassing intruder do when he saw you and Jimmy?"
"He shot and killed Jimmy."
"I see." Doug Matthews shook his big head. "And how old was Jimmy?"
"Just a baby; hadn't celebrated his twenty-third birthday." Damon Leatherwood's eyes narrowed.
"A shame, a cryin' shame," said Matthews, and Natalie looked at Kane, wondering why he didn't object. "Do you see that heartless killer in this courtroom, Damon?"
"Yes, I do."
"Will you point him out to the jury."
Damon pointed a blunt finger at Kane. "That's him. That's the southern bastard that shot and killed little Jimmy!"
The questioning progressed.
The prosecutor continued to lead the witness into testimony undeniably damning to the defendant. Still, Kane made no objection to stop him. Natalie began to doubt the southerner was an attorney. Could she, in all good conscience, sit by and allow him to be rushed to the gallows for want of a decent defense?
Her gaze drifted once again to the defense table. She blinked, unbelieving. Kane Covington's dark hand was lifted to his mouth, stifling a yawn, and his lids drooped low over drowsy blue eyes. His long, lean body suggested total languor and Natalie fleetingly wondered if the man was quite right in the head. Didn't he know that this was a murder trial—his murder trial—and that unless he shook off his lassitude and defended himself he would be swinging from the hanging tree before sundown?
Kane hardly listened to Damon Leatherwood's testimony. His mind had long ago wandered and he found the beautiful judge of far greater interest than the witness. From hooded eyes he casually observed her, thinking amusedly that he'd better take a good, long look. Likely it would be his last chance, considering what he was carrying in his breast pocket. He had a feeling that once it was introduced as evidence, the beautiful judge would hate him with a passion far greater than the one now claiming her.
Kane sighed.
Even now, wearing those long judicial robes wit
h that flaming hair restrained, she was desirable. Too vividly he recalled the sweet, clean fragrance of that lustrous wild hair, the velvet smoothness of her ivory skin, the lusty timbre of her voice speaking words of passion. Too clearly he remembered the way her long, slender arms and legs had wound around him, the taste of her lips beneath his, the tight, glorious, fit of his hard flesh in the moist softness of hers.
Kane shifted in his chair.
"… and we asked him to leave peaceably, me and Jimmy," Damon Leatherwood was saying.
Shaking his head in sympathy, the prosecutor patted Damon Leatherwood's forearm, and said to the judge, "No further questions, Your Honor." He glanced at Kane, "Your witness."
Kane nodded, rose, and approached the man seated in the witness box. "Ever see me before, Mr. Leatherwood?" Kane's cold blue eyes were riveted to Damon Leatherwood's face.
Leatherwood glared at Kane. "You know I have, you murdering—"
"Where have you seen me before, Mr. Leatherwood?"
"You know where!" Damon Leatherwood's eyes shifted nervously between Kane and the twelve rapt men seated behind the jury rail.
"Yes, I do, but I want you to tell the jury where you saw me," Kane prodded, turning his back on Damon Leatherwood. He shrugged out of his tailored gray jacket and Natalie's gaze was drawn at once to his wide shoulders and muscular back, which was clearly outlined beneath his sweat-dampened white shirt. He turned around and she hastily lowered her eyes, wondering dismally if she was blushing like some foolish schoolgirl. "Where did you and 'little Jimmy' encounter me?" He walked slowly back to the box, rolling up his shirtsleeves over dark forearms as he came.
"You was up there on the Vallance property where you had no business being!"
"Can you give a more exact location. I understand that Cloud West—the Vallance property—is extensive. Where on Cloud West did you run into me?" Kane gracefully pulled at the crease in the right leg of his fine trousers, lifted his foot to the brass rung attached to the witness box, and crossed his long arms over his chest.
