Fletcher reined Prince to a skidding halt, raised his Winchester, shut one eye to take aim, but hesitated. The gunman had lowered his weapon.
Confused, Fletcher watched the rider grow more distant. Hell, if he was going to stop Hank from getting away, he’d have to do it with a bullet and do it fast. He shut one eye, focusing…don’t miss, don’t miss.
But the rider disappeared suddenly, out of Fletcher’s sights. The fool had fallen off his horse!
“Yah!” Fletcher yelled, dropping his rifle back into his scabbard and breaking into a gallop. The outlaw’s horse was idly trotting away and the man lay motionless on the ground. Fletcher had seen men take spills at that speed before, and most of them didn’t come out of it too happily, if at all. He trotted up to the gunman’s lifeless form and dismounted.
Slowly, cautiously, he approached. The man was sprawled on his back, the red bandanna covering his face, the hat pressed down over his eyes. Fletcher was finally going to get a look at the man who’d destroyed his reputation on his first night in Dodge. He couldn’t wait to drag Six-Shooter Hank to the jailhouse and lock him up where he belonged.
“Hold it!” the outlaw yelled, sitting up and whipping a pistol out from under his coat, pointing it straight between Fletcher’s eyes.
In a flash of movement, Fletcher drew his Peacemaker and took aim. “Here we are again.”
The kid—he was just a kid, damn it—didn’t reply. He slowly rose to his feet, never taking his aim off Fletcher. They stood under the moonlight, a few feet apart.
Fletcher’s hand was steady. Hank’s hand trembled.
“I didn’t appreciate that leg wound,” Fletcher said. “It still smarts.”
The gunman nodded.
“Before this gets ugly, I’d like to know what you were doing at the O’Malley ranch,” Fletcher asked.
The kid’s voice was strained, as if he were trying too hard to sound older than he was. “Drop your gun.”
“Not a chance.” Fletcher rubbed the pad of his index finger over the trigger, ready to fire if he had to, but only if he had to.
“Listen kid, it ain’t worth it. You’re gonna get caught sooner or later. Better to give yourself up now and save yourself a murder charge.”
The kid frantically shook his head.
“It ain’t a suggestion. You’re coming with me, conscious or not. Take off the scarf.”
Without warning, Fletcher’s horse stepped sideways and took his attention for one vital moment. The kid came at him, swinging his gun.
Fletcher knew the move all too well and wasn’t about to get knocked out cold, not by this kid, of all people. Quick as a shot, he raised his arm in defense and swiped the weapon out of Hank’s hand.
Next thing he knew, Hank was coming at him in a tackle. Fletcher maintained his footing against the kid’s surprisingly light weight, but felt a second gun at his hip, so he did the only thing that made sense. He hauled back and punched the kid in the nose.
The squeal nearly struck Fletcher senseless.
While the kid staggered back, holding his nose, Fletcher swung a boot and kicked him off his feet, onto his back with a thump. Before the kid had a chance to realize he was seeing stars, Fletcher was on top of him, pinning him down and ripping the second gun from the holster.
Fletcher checked the weapon for bullets, then pointed it at Hank’s face, right between the eyes. “You gonna cooperate now?”
Hank nodded and Fletcher couldn’t wait to get his hands on that scarf. He reached for it, but Hank bit into the fabric and held it in place with his teeth. He was grunting and shaking his head until Fletcher tired of the game and finally yanked with all his might.
The bandanna came loose, Fletcher blinked a few times, then the breath sailed out of his lungs.
* * *
Her nose throbbing unbearably, and with her shoulder in no better state, Jo lay on her back, staring up at Fletcher’s stunned expression.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asked incredulously, swiping her hat off her head.
She’d never been punched in the face before. God, it hurt! Adrenaline sped through her veins, causing her to see red. Before she knew what she was doing, she instinctively balled up a fist and walloped Fletcher in the nose. He fell off her, onto his backside, and she was free at last.
Fletcher leaned up on one hand while he cupped his face with the other. Blood seeped between his fingers.
Jo scrambled to her feet. She examined her own hand for blood and found her glove stained crimson. “I’m bleeding.”
“So am I.” Fletcher gently pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hell, you broke it.”
For a moment, they both sat suffering with their own wounds, until Fletcher looked up at her. “Jeez, look what I did. If I’d known it was you…” He rose to his feet and tried to take her hand away from her face to assess the damage, but she elbowed him in the ribs.
“Just let me look,” he said, clutching his side. “It doesn’t look broken, thank God.”
At the sight of Fletcher’s bloody nose, which now looked a little crooked, Jo’s fear and fury began to wane. “I didn’t mean to do that to you, either,” she said. “But you had me pinned down, and you punched me! I didn’t like it.”
She touched his face, and he touched hers.
Between the gunshot wound, the fall from the horse, and the sore nose, she felt like she’d been hit by a train.
“Does it hurt very much?” Jo asked, regretting what she’d done.
“Yeah. But I reckon I had it coming.”
“You were just doing your job.”
“It ain’t my job to hit women.”
Jo shook her head and stepped back. “Not even if they’re trying to shoot you?”
He let out a breath of frustration. “What in tarnation were you doing?”
She’d known that question was coming, and she should have been prepared for it, but she still hadn’t the foggiest idea how to reply. Jo pinched her nose and tipped her head back. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.” He tipped his head back, too.
How was she to tell this man that if he hadn’t caught her just now, she would be killing his brother-in-law this very night? She could barely believe it herself.
Feeling suddenly cold in the chill of the evening, she flopped onto the ground and sat on her knees.
Fletcher approached and handed the bandanna to her. “Wipe your nose with this.”
Thankful for his caring, she took it and wiped the blood from her face.
Fletcher knelt down before her. “Was it you that night? In Zeb’s store?”
She felt tears pool in eyes, which had been dry for many months, and knew exactly the reason why. This man’s presence was shining an unwelcome light on what she had nearly become—a cold-blooded killer with a future full of remorse. Sadly she nodded.
“Why?”
“I had a reason. I just can’t tell you what it is.”
“You’re putting me in a difficult position, Josephine.”
“I know. Why do you think I tried so hard to outrun you?” The sharp, steely blade of shame stabbed at her, its sting made worse by the fact that it was Fletcher wielding it.
He stared at her for another few seconds, as if contemplating her answer, then rose to his feet. She felt his gaze boring into the top of her head and knew with hopeless dread what was coming.
“Get up, please, Mrs. O’Malley.” His voice was cold and exact.
Jo looked up and saw the regret in Fletcher’s expression. Heaven help her, she could not bear to think of him despising her so deeply. He was a man who valued integrity and the law above all else, and she respected him for that, more than he could ever know. It was precisely why it killed her inside to have strayed so far from his ideals, ideals that had once been her own.
Her heart sank with shame and a desperate need to explain herself, even though she knew it was hopeless. He wasn’t a parent. He would never understand how far she was willing to go�
��as a mother—to protect her son.
“You’re under arrest for the shooting in Zeb’s store,” he said scathingly. “It was attempted robbery and attempted murder. Of both Zeb Stone…and me.”
Chapter Twelve
Jo rose to her feet to face Fletcher, her skin prickling with horror. “You can’t do this. You don’t understand.”
He wrapped his hand around her upper arm. She began to struggle impossibly against his grip, to pry his iron fingers away, but they wouldn’t budge. He dragged her toward his horse, then reached for his handcuffs while she twisted frantically so that her back was to him while she tried to squirm away.
“Please, Josephine,” Fletcher said, his voice and body straining. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.” He held her around the waist to keep her from slipping free.
Bending and struggling in her husband’s loose clothing only served to make Jo more aware of Fletcher’s hard body, pressed tight up against her backside. “Fletcher, please, listen to me…”
“I can’t let you go,” he said, his voice husky in her ear.
Jo continued to squirm in his hold. The more she struggled, the tighter he held her—until she let out a sob.
Suddenly his grip loosened and her body relaxed.
Then all at once, he was holding her close in an intimate embrace…with the front of his hard body pressed against the back of hers, his arms locked around her waist, his warm breath beating on the nape of her neck. She shut her eyes, wanting to turn around and face him, to wrap her arms around his big shoulders and beg for his help and forgiveness.
“Jo,” he whispered hotly in her ear, sending ripples of gooseflesh down the length of her body.
She turned her cheek to the side, and his lips grazed the side of her mouth.
“Please, Fletcher…” She wasn’t sure what she was asking for, because she was terrified and frustrated with him for getting in her way tonight, but at the same time, her heart was racing with desire at the feel of his body so tight and snug up against her.
Reaching around with her good arm, she buried her fingers into the hair at his nape, pulled him closer, and tipped her face up to the sky as he dropped wet kisses onto her tingling neck. It felt so good, so intoxicating, her knees nearly buckled beneath her.
But he wasn’t going to take this further. Somehow she knew he would put a stop to it very soon. She could sense it. She felt it in his touch.
Sure enough, he spoke softly in her ear. “I’m sorry, but I have to take you in. It’s my job.”
She looked up at the starry sky and exhaled heavily as she dropped her arms to her sides. Everything inside her wanted only to surrender to Fletcher and put her fate in his hands—for good or bad, no matter the outcome. But then she thought of Leo and her conversation with Zeb that afternoon. She couldn’t let Zeb win. She had to protect her son, and she certainly couldn’t do that from behind bars.
Jo broke away from Fletcher’s hold. She had to talk to him, to make him understand. Perhaps there was a chance she could trust him…
“It’s not what it seems,” she carefully said.
He stood motionless, not making a move to handcuff her at least. “I’m listening.”
She tried to find the right words to explain, but there was no right way to talk of murder. And what if Fletcher’s righteous talk about his father and the importance of upholding the law was all a ruse, and he was secretly in Zeb’s pocket and on his payroll? Zeb was married to Fletcher’s sister, after all. Surely Fletcher had to know what kind of man he was.
Still, she had to feel him out, because something in her wanted to believe he could be trusted—that he genuinely cared about her and Leo.
She licked her parched, throbbing lips. “I…I wasn’t trying to rob Zeb’s store the other night. It was more complicated than that.”
“Continue.”
Jo’s ribs were squeezing around her heart. “I was there that night because I believed I had no other choice left to me. I had to protect myself. And Leo.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“I know. Just give me a chance. The problems began long before the night I walked into Zeb’s store. I…I lied about what I saw the night Edwyn was murdered.”
Fletcher stared at her for a moment, then his eyes softened and he helped her to sit down in the grass, away from the horses. She felt the weight of his anger lift a little and prayed it would continue.
“I knew something was wrong today when you came to the clerk’s office,” he said. “I could see that you were scared. Please believe that I wanted to help you.”
“You knew?”
She worked hard to keep her voice steady as he sat down in the grass beside her. When had anyone seen the fear she had fought so hard to hide, and known she needed help? Matilda hadn’t seen it. Leo had seen a change in her, but he’d not understood what horrors were at the root of it.
She took Fletcher’s hand, knowing with surprising certainty that it was time to confess the truth to someone. To him.
“I didn’t find Edwyn murdered, Fletcher. I saw it happen.”
He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then he whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Then he pulled her close.
She let her forehead rest on his shoulder and recalled the dreadfulness of what had occurred that night. Only then did she realize that by keeping this secret bottled up, she had not let herself express all of her grief for Edwyn. It was a strange comfort to do so now.
“What happened?” Fletcher asked.
“We were both in the barn late one night,” she explained, “waiting for a mare to deliver. There was some commotion outside, and Edwyn went out to see what was going on. I heard him yelling, and then it was just a lot of angry voices. I backed into a stall, not sure what was happening. Then the barn door swung open and three men wearing hoods walked in dragging Edwyn, who was weak and staggering. They must have beaten him.” She began to feel sick as she connected with the memories. She paused a moment, searching for strength. “They tossed a rope over a beam, forced Edwyn onto a chair and into the noose, and without a second’s hesitation, the leader kicked the chair out from under him. It happened very quickly and I watched everything.”
Fletcher stroked the hair away from her eyes and kissed the top of her head. A cloud floated in front of the moon.
“The men stayed to watch until Edwyn stopped struggling, and I knew if I tried to stop it, I’d be dead too, and I had to stay alive for Leo. That’s all I could think of. I couldn’t move, I was so terrified. By the time they left, it was too late. I tried to cut Edwyn down and save him, but he was…gone, and I’d done nothing to stop it. Nothing. How could I have been such a coward?”
“You were outnumbered, Jo, and you were frightened, thinking of your son.” She pressed her face into his coat, and felt a single tear soak into the thick fabric. “Believe me, you did the right thing,” he added. “You can’t blame yourself.”
“But I do, I do.”
A deep well of tears—which she had not been able to shed before—overflowed. To her dismay, she realized that where she thought she had been winning a battle against them, she had only been postponing them, while they multiplied, every day, inside her. “I want to be strong, for Leo,” she cried. “He’s all I have left and I love him so much.”
“I can see that,” Fletcher said. “And I promise, everything’s going to be all right.”
“How can you promise that?” she asked hopelessly, sniffling and gazing up at him with tearstained cheeks.
“Did you get a look at the men?” he asked.
This was the difficult part—the truth about that night. Would Fletcher even believe her? If he didn’t, there was no hope for her life, or for Leo’s.
Nevertheless, she had to try. Jo sat back, wiped her eyes and whispered, “Yes.”
Fletcher’s astonishment showed on his face, and Jo knew he was connecting these events to the ones that had brought them both here. He was remembering the ni
ght in the store, when they’d first met and when Jo had shot him in the leg. He stared speechless at her, then he shook his head in disbelief. “Jo, you don’t think that Zeb—”
He stopped midsentence and laughed skeptically, but it was void of humor.
“I saw it happen,” she firmly said.
“But you said they were wearing hoods. How can you be sure it was him?”
Jo looked down at her hands in her lap. “I know it. I heard his voice, saw the way he moved. It was him.” Fletcher stood up and raked his fingers through his hair. “Zeb Stone is my sister’s husband—a respected, prominent citizen of Dodge. You can’t make accusations like that without some kind of proof.”
“I realize that. That’s why I’m not making accusations.”
Fletcher turned away, staring across the dark prairie, the fast wind lifting his hair. “You can’t do that, Jo. I won’t let you. It’s not right.”
“Not right?” Jo stood up as well and pulled him around to face her. “You dare talk to me about what’s right? My husband dangled from a rope and struggled for his life in front of my eyes, and all I could do was watch. Zeb forced me to choose between my husband and my son, and I made that choice, but not without a lot of pain. I’ve not slept a full night since. I’ve felt so much hate and anger and guilt…I’ll never be the woman I was. Six months ago, I never would have even considered taking a man’s life, but now, I just can’t see any other way to protect my family, even if it destroys me inside. So don’t tell me about what’s right.”
Jo let out a breath. The realization hit hard—that she’d been surrounding her heart with ice just to escape the voice of her conscience, and this was the first time the ice had broken. The truth was out. Finally someone knew what she had suffered and what sinful, shameful impulses now lived in her doomed soul.
Fletcher stared at her. She waited with sickening dread for him to say something, but there were no words. He took a step forward and gathered her into his arms again. She felt breathless and surprised.
Tempting the Marshal: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Series Book 2) Page 10
