Brodie's Gamble

by Shirleen Davies

  Closing her eyes, Maggie sat down on the thin pad, inhaling the aroma of cooked beef. Her stomach rumbled. Placing a hand over it, she realized it had been over a day since she’d eaten. As much as she wanted to fill the void inside her, she pushed the tray away, feeling too nauseous to swallow. She’d felt woozy and unwell since Arnie let out a groan and slipped to the floor of the cabin. Thinking the law would understand her position and protect her, she foolishly sought their help. Maggie had never regretted anything more. Now she sat in the jail, a prisoner of a by-the-book lawman. A man who sucked all the air from around her whenever he was near, making her heart beat uncontrollably.

  Spending hours alone in a cell allowed for much reflection. After considering all that had happened, Maggie knew she needed two kinds of defenses. One for the death of Arnie, and one to shield her from the growing attraction to the hard-nosed sheriff.

  Brodie slid the key onto the hook, then collapsed into a chair. Rubbing his eyes, he chastised himself for what he’d done in the cell. Although new to the job, he’d had his share of overnight guests in the jail. Each had been treated with respect, fed, and allowed to walk around out back after taking care of business. His behavior toward Maggie, a frightened young woman, had been inexcusable.

  The moment she’d stepped within his reach, he’d felt a strong craving to wrap an arm around her waist and draw her to him. Her length to his, chest to chest. The rush of desire sweeping through his body when he gripped her wrist stunned him. He may not have as much experience with women as others, but he’d never felt anything like the strong craving burning through him.

  Burying his face in his hands, he let out a groan. He needed sleep…and more help. Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes, willing himself to forget the woman in the cell a few feet away and concentrate on finding at least one new deputy. Instead, his head spun with visions of the red-haired prisoner with the clearest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes a man could get lost in, making him act in ways he’d later regret.

  Pulling out a drawer, he grabbed the few responses he’d received from his latest telegrams to nearby towns. He read through each, setting them aside before picking one back up to read again.

  Ex-Union officer. Skilled with gun. Experienced lawman. Looking for work out west. Contact me at Bellamy Hotel, Independence, Missouri. Nathan Hollis.

  Brodie pulled out the pocket watch his father had given him the year before. Ewan’s father had given it to him when he was Brodie’s age. Whenever he held the precious timepiece, Brodie’s chest constricted, knowing it was a distinct honor to own it. Staring out the front window, he thought of his mother and father, wondering if they would ever accept his desire to become a lawman. They hadn’t tried to contact him or send a message since the night he’d announced his decision. He prayed they’d eventually come around.

  “Evening, Sheriff.” Jack came bursting into the office as if he belonged there. “Anything I can do to help out tonight?”

  No matter his reservations, Brodie had to smile at the young man’s enthusiasm.

  “You came at the right time, lad. I need someone to keep watch on Miss King while I send a telegram.”

  Jack rubbed his jaw, his brows furrowing. “I think the telegraph office is closed for the night.”

  “I’m certain that’s true. I also know where to find the clerk.” When he’d accepted the badge, Brodie had made it clear to Ira Greene that the telegraph office was never closed when he needed to send a telegram. “Keep away from the back, Jack. All I need you to do is talk to anyone who comes in while I’m gone.”

  “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Aye. That’s what worries me, Brodie thought as he grabbed his hat and stepped outside.

  “Sheriff, are you out there?” Maggie stood, her hands grasping the bars. “Sheriff MacLaren, I need to speak with you.”

  Jack sat straighter in his chair, torn about what do. Brodie hadn’t been gone long, but he had been specific about not going back to the cells. Considering it a moment, deciding it would be best to wait, he settled back into his chair, folding his hands on the desk.

  “Sheriff, I really must speak with you.”

  Jack mumbled a curse. Certainly the sheriff wouldn’t get mad if all he did was find out what she wanted and tell her he would return shortly. He wouldn’t take the keys with him—just poke his head around the corner. Feeling better, he glanced around the corner, seeing Maggie gripping the bars with both hands.

  “Sheriff MacLaren isn’t here, but he’ll be back in a bit.” Satisfied, he turned to leave.

  “Wait. I need help.”

  The anxiety in her voice worried him enough to shift back around. Jack looked at her, an eyebrow raised in question.

  “I, uh…need to use the privy.” A red blush crept up her face, her knuckles turning white as they held the bars.

  “Well now, I, um…I think you should wait for the sheriff.” Flustered, Jack took a step away.

  “Deputy, you don’t understand. I’ve been waiting for hours. Please, won’t you help me?”

  “Look, miss, the sheriff was real clear that I’m not supposed to go near the cell. He’d be darn mad to come back and learn I let you out to use the privy. Sorry, but you’ll just need to wait.”

  “Deputy, please.” She could feel her face heat. Even with Arnie, she’d never begged to get her business done. “The sheriff doesn’t need to know. I promise I’ll be quick.”

  “Ah, hell,” Jack muttered, shaking his head.

  “I won’t say a word to him if you don’t.” She let go of the bars, letting her arms drop to her sides. “Please, Deputy. It won’t take long.”

  Taking a deep breath, Jack got the keys, then grabbed a pair of handcuffs, sliding them into a pocket. Pulling open a drawer, he picked up a gun Brodie kept in the desk, praying he was making the right decision.

  “Don’t you try anything. If I suspect you’re trying to bamboozle me, you’ll be back in this cell and I’ll tell the sheriff myself.” Jack meant it. If she did anything suspicious, he’d have to tell Brodie, no matter the consequences. “Step back.”

  “Thank you.” The relief in her voice sounded genuine as she moved away.

  Holding the gun in one hand, he unlocked the cell. “Here. Put these on.” He tossed her the handcuffs.

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue. The sheriff will be back soon and I can’t take a chance of you trying to get away.” Jack waved the gun a couple times, then glanced over his shoulder. “You’d best hurry or I’ll change my mind.”

  Working fast, she clasped them on each wrist. “All right. Can we go now?”

  “It’s out that way.” Jack nodded to the back door.

  Dashing to it, she fumbled with the knob, surprised at how easily it turned.

  “Down those steps and out back. I gotta warn you not to try anything.”

  Stumbling in the dark, she walked behind the jail, spotting the enclosed wooden structure a few feet away. Glancing around, she noted the dark and isolated area around the privy, the door facing away from the jail. Brush and trees surrounded the wooden structure, allowing for some measure of privacy. Not fifty feet away, she saw a livery, knowing there were always horses kept in the stables in back. She could either be hung for stealing a horse or for murdering Arnie. With a horse, she might get far enough away to save herself.

  Memorizing what she saw, Maggie pulled the door open and disappeared inside. A few minutes later, she emerged, flashing Jack a grateful smile.

  “Thank you, Deputy. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t agreed to help me.”

  Jack flushed at the compliment, glancing away, clearing his throat. “Uh, sure…” Waving the gun toward the jail, he stepped behind her, praying Brodie hadn’t returned while they were gone.

  Maggie walked back into her cell, then turned when she heard it lock behind her.

  “Now, put your hands through the bars and I’ll unlock the cuffs.” T
he gun shook slightly in one hand as he tried to use the key, not quite getting it to work.

  “You may need both hands,” Maggie suggested, her mouth curving into a grin.

  Jack looked at her, knowing he’d never get her out of those cuffs using one hand. He set the gun and cell keys on the floor behind him.

  “Keep your hands where they are, but step back,” he ordered, his voice unsteady.

  She did as he asked, holding her arms straight out in front of her, creating a distance of a foot between her body and the bars.

  Working fast, he unlocked the handcuffs and stuffed them into a pocket before picking up the gun and cell keys. He shot her a quick glance, then returned to the front of the jail.

  “Thank you, Deputy. You don’t know how much I appreciate your help.”

  Looking back around the wall, Jack nodded, hoping Brodie wouldn’t find out.

  Maggie lowered herself onto the uncomfortable mattress. Satisfied she’d learned what she needed, a smirk crossed her face as she processed the possibilities. Soon, she’d be out of there, and it couldn’t happen fast enough.

  “I can’t believe I’m hauling you in here twice in one week, Bob.” Brodie walked into the jail, dragging Bob Belford by the collar toward one of the three empty cells. Hefting him onto the bed, Brodie turned the lock, then shook his head. “Does your wife know you’re in town drinking?”

  Bob rubbed his eyes, trying to focus, his face falling. “You aren’t going to tell her, are you, Sheriff?” His slurred words confirmed how much the man already had to drink.

  “Who’s running the ranch while you’re sitting in here sleeping off the whiskey? Your oldest lad is only twelve, right?”

  Bob’s face lit up. “Thirteen.” He said it as if it were justification for his actions. “His brother is almost eleven. Right big boys, too, Sheriff.”

  Crossing his arms, Brodie stared at the man. The same age as Brodie’s father, he owned a sizable spread a few miles south of town. Word was he’d run into trouble, lost some land gambling, lost cattle to rustlers, and now spent a good deal of time drinking at Buckie’s Castle. Before he could say more, Bob collapsed on the bed, already snoring.

  For a moment, Brodie had forgotten about the woman one cell over. He shot a quick glance at her, seeing her gaze locked on him, her face impassive and cold. As much as he knew Maggie must hate him, he couldn’t shake the way her presence affected him. Like a moth to a flame, he was drawn to her, tempted to do things that didn’t fit with his position, certainly getting him fired if he acted on them.

  He took a step closer to her cell. “Are you doing all right, Miss King?”

  She didn’t answer, staring a few more seconds before turning her back to him.

  Sighing, his shoulders slumping, he walked to the front. Jack had left his seat behind the desk and now sat in a chair by the stove.

  “Any problems with the prisoner?” Brodie asked as he removed his gun belt and sat down.

  Jack shook his head, looking like a dog shaking off a coat full of water. “Not a peep. Quiet as a mouse. So quiet, I got a little bored sitting around. She’s—” Jack stopped when Brodie held up a hand.

  “I understand, Jack.”

  Jack nodded, then jumped up, heading for the door. “Guess I’d better get going. Got lots to do.”

  Brodie cocked his head as his brows furrowed. “It’s after dark, Jack. What are you planning to do?”

  “Uh, well…sleep. Yep, it’s past my bedtime. Have a good night, Sheriff.”

  Brodie stared at the closed door, wondering what was going on with him. Although he worked hard and most people liked him, some called Jack addle-brained. Brodie didn’t approve of the description and didn’t agree with them. Still, something wasn’t right with him tonight.

  Pushing up from his chair, he marched to the cells, taking another look at Maggie. She sat on the edge of the bed, head bent, hands in her lap. He stood silent, knowing she didn’t know he watched. Twice, she stroked her face, and he wondered if it were tears she swiped away. The despondent pose pierced his stoic nature. Swallowing the hard knot in his throat, he turned, pacing back to the front. He could not…would not let her get to him.

  As much as her suffering cut deep, causing him to doubt her guilt, he had no proof anyone else had killed Arnie. No footprints, tracks, or evidence anyone else had visited the cabin. And she’d admitted hitting him. Still…

  Slumping into his chair, Brodie scrubbed a weary hand down his face. He wanted to believe in her innocence. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a piece of paper and pencil, then started jotting down notes. An hour later, he dropped the pencil, pinching the bridge of his nose. Something didn’t make sense. Tomorrow, he’d ride back to the cabin, take a long, hard look around, and hopefully find what he and Colin had missed the first time.

  A warning rang in his head. It wasn’t his job to find evidence to clear Maggie. He’d done what the town paid him for—use the facts to arrest and jail a suspected killer. It would be up to a good lawyer, not Brodie, to obtain her freedom.

  Unfortunately, looking at what he’d written down, all his instincts told him her story was accurate and pointed to her innocence. If he didn’t act, any additional evidence could disappear—washed away by rain or obscured by animal tracks. The job fell to him.

  Looking around the corner and glancing at her cell, his heart seized at the sight of Maggie curled up on the hard bed, her hands tucked under her cheek. Stepping closer, he could hear her ragged breathing, her breath hitching in her sleep, her body trembling.

  Entering the cell, he lifted the edge of the blanket, pulling it over her. The instant his fingers brushed across her shoulder, she tensed, her body beginning to shake. He waited until she stilled, then brushed a strand of hair off her face. She started, turning onto her back, her arms flailing.

  “No. Don’t.” Her panicked voice accompanied her hands punching into the air, as if she were fighting someone off. “Stop…don’t touch me.” Her words were slurred, yet Brodie understood them. His stomach tightened at the reason for her nightmare.

  “Maggie, darlin’, wake up.” He bent over, stroking her hair. His touch caused her to rear her arm back and swing at him. Leaning to the side, he barely avoided her landing a punch to his jaw. “Maggie, it’s a dream. You need to wake up.”

  Knowing he might be risking a black eye or broken nose, he sat on the edge of the bed. Still asleep, a captive of whatever dream claimed her, she reflexively pushed herself back against the wall.

  Stroking her back, he whispered to her in the Gaelic, knowing she’d never understand him. They were words his mother had used when he was young and had nightmares. He stopped for a moment when her body convulsed once more, a pitiful whimper escaping her lips.

  Unable to hold back, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting and settling her on his lap. To his surprise, her body relaxed against him, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt.

  “There now, lassie. You’ll be all right. It was a wee dream.” Knowing it was much more, he cursed the man who caused her to carry such a burden. Rocking back and forth, he listened as Maggie’s breathing calmed, her body settling into him as if she were meant to be there. A feeling he’d never known ripped through him and all he wanted was to stay there all night, his arms wrapped around her, protecting her.

  The frightened woman, who worked to be brave during the day, couldn’t control her reactions as she slept. As strong as she tried to be, Maggie King fought demons from her past and a far from certain future. He knew she was scared, and with good reason.

  If found guilty, it would be doubtful a judge would order her to hang, but she would spend the rest of her life in prison. Ironic. She’d gone from an innocent young lady to being the prisoner of a man who abused and mistreated her. Now, in her quest for freedom, she’d most likely become a prisoner again. This time, there’d be no escape.

  Brodie couldn’t let that happen. He had to find a way to help her, prove her innocence. A cold resolv
e washed over him. It was time someone stepped forward to help her. No matter the consequences, Brodie promised himself he wouldn’t stop until he discovered the truth about Arnie Stoddard’s death.

  Chapter Five

  Brodie jerked, reaching for his gun as the door to the jail slammed open. With the bright morning sun behind them, blinding him, he couldn’t make out the identity of the two figures standing in the doorway.

  “Whoa, Brodie.” Quinn stepped inside, his hands raised when he saw the gun pointed his way. “It’s your family, come to check on you, lad.” A broad smile crossed his face when Brodie walked around the desk, his arms outstretched.

  He wrapped Quinn, then Blaine in a quick embrace before stepping back to look at them.

  “It’s good to see you two scoundrels.” After the visit by Colin and Sarah, he’d hoped the rest of the family would come around, pay him a visit. Brodie couldn’t believe how good it felt to see his cousins after weeks of silence.

  “Scoundrels are we now?” Quinn laughed, slapping Brodie on the back. “I’ll have you know we’ve been shouldering your work and our own since you left.”

  “Quinn is right,” Blaine added, his eyes flashing as he looked around the jail. “Appears you’ve made no changes since they ran Yost out of Conviction.”

  The mention of the former sheriff had Brodie wincing. “Aye. I’ve had little time and no budget. Seems I’ll live with it as it is for a while.” He motioned to the chairs. “Have a seat and tell me what brings you to town.”

  “Besides you?” Blaine chuckled.

  “I’m flattered, but know you wouldn’t have made the trip just to see me.” Brodie leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head.

  “Right, but you are the main reason we came today. It’s been too long and you’ve made no attempt to come to the ranch. Blaine and I drew the short straws, so it fell on us to make certain you’ve not gotten yourself into trouble.” Quinn shot a look at Blaine and winked.