Brodie's Gamble

by Shirleen Davies

  Once Jack had settled down from his elation at being Conviction’s newest, and only, deputy, he’d offered to stay the night to keep watch on the prisoners, allowing Brodie to get some much needed sleep. At first he’d declined, saying he needed Jack in the morning so he could ride to the cabin. In the end, Jack’s persuasive protests and Brodie’s exhaustion won out, allowing him a few hours of rest before waking at dawn.

  “The U.S. Marshal could come anytime to escort Meeks to San Francisco. With Bob gone, all you’ll need to do is watch after Miss King. Nothing’s changed, except you’ll need to accompany her outside when needed. I should be back by noon.”

  “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’ll take care of everything while you’re gone.” Jack’s head bobbed up and down as he spoke, the grin from last night still plastered on his face. With a nod, Brodie had left, not sparing a glance at the cells.

  He needed the long ride to clear his head, figure out how he’d lost control. The cold air slicing through his clothes was a welcome distraction, keeping him focused on the journey instead of Maggie. Maggie, he thought, a flash of pain gripping his chest.

  The confusion on her face when he’d let her go and stepped away kept him awake a good portion of the night. Ignoring the dazed expression and pain sparking in her eyes, he’d taken hold of her elbow, guiding her into the jail and back to her cell, then locked the door before she had a chance to say a word. Although it bothered him more than he wanted to admit, he’d kept his distance. He refused to make the same mistake again, no matter how perfect she felt in his arms.

  Rounding the last corner, he spotted the cabin ahead. It looked the same as a few days before when he’d come with Colin and Maggie. Unless there was other family, which Maggie hadn’t mentioned, he wouldn’t expect anyone else to make the journey to such a remote spot.

  Reining Hunter to a stop, he swung to the ground, loosening his coat as the sun’s rays pierced the clouds. He scanned the area around the cabin. Nothing moved and he noticed no new tracks since the last visit. Throwing open the front door, he stepped inside, his gaze landing on the spot where Maggie said she’d hit Arnie. Sunlight washed over the area, making it easy to search for any traces of evidence they may have missed.

  Brodie knelt down next to the spot he’d first seen blood. It had dried and seeped into the rough wood floor. The size of the stain seemed normal for a gash on the back of his head, but too small for the damage done to Arnie’s face. If he’d been killed in the cabin, there would’ve been much more blood and a definite trail leading outside.

  The doctor told Brodie it would’ve been unlikely Arnie died from the injury to his head. Extreme pain for days, wooziness for several hours, but not death. His face was another matter. The amount of blood loss would’ve been critical. The doctor believed the crack in his skull, across the middle of his forehead, killed him.

  Brodie thought the beating had to have taken place outside. Stepping out the door, he walked the path to where they found the shallow grave. Maggie would’ve had to carry him out or drag him through the front door, around to the back of the cabin, and behind the stable.

  He guessed Maggie weighed no more than a hundred twenty pounds. The doctor said Arnie weighed over two hundred. That ruled out her carrying him. The only way for her to move the body would’ve been to drag it, yet he couldn’t find any markings to support that conclusion—no trail of blood and no evidence a trail had been obscured by brushing it away.

  Brodie also reminded himself she’d run for hours to reach Conviction and report what happened. Maggie had been so frantic when she rushed into the jail, he wondered if she even realized what she’d said—admitting she may have killed Arnie. Fear, exhaustion, her first taste of freedom in almost two years—all of that could have contributed to her blurting out a confession.

  His instincts, combined with what he’d figured out today, told him Maggie was innocent of dealing the fatal blow to Arnie Stoddard. Knocked him out? Yes. Killed him? Doubtful. Brodie believed a good lawyer could piece together a defense any jury would accept.

  A bigger mystery remained. Who arrived at the cabin after Maggie left, and why did they want Arnie Stoddard dead?

  Maggie had tossed and turned on the thin, uncomfortable bed all night. Images of Brodie leaning over her, lowering his mouth to capture hers, then pulling away in horror woke her more than once, her clothes soaked, head swirling. The look he’d given her when he’d broken their kiss haunted her. Disgust and pity passed over his face before he’d taken her by the elbow, roughly guiding her back to the jail and her cell.

  Opening her eyes to the sound of men talking, she swung her feet to the floor and sat up. Rubbing her eyes, she concentrated on the voices, recognizing Brodie and Jack whispering. All she could make out was Brodie saying he expected to be back by noon.

  Drawing her knees up to her chest, she moved back against the wall, closing herself off from everything around her, much as she did while living with Arnie. It was her fantasy world. One she created in order to disappear from the grim reality of what had become her life. Nothing had changed since Arnie died. She still found herself retreating, locking herself off from the rest of the world and the pain it caused. The only way she’d experience peace was to escape. Get as far away from Conviction, and Brodie MacLaren, as possible.

  Maggie let out a relieved breath at the sound of the front door closing. Brodie had left, leaving Jack in charge. She smiled, realizing her chance may have come sooner than she expected. An hour passed before she heard the voice of a man she didn’t recognize. Within minutes, Jack and the other man, a U.S. Marshal, unlocked David Meeks’ cell, escorting him by gunpoint to the front. No one spared her a glance, as if she were invisible. She wished it were true.

  Hearing the men leave, she walked to the front of her cell, wrapping her fingers around the bars.

  “Deputy?” She waited a moment, then tried again. “Deputy, are you out there?”

  “Just hold on a minute. I’m coming.” Jack came around the corner. “Been a right busy morning, Miss King.”

  “I saw you take Mr. Meeks out.”

  “Yep. That U.S. Marshal arrived right on time. Now, what can I do for you?”

  Maggie nodded toward the back.

  “Oh, sure. I’ll just get the key.” A few seconds later he returned with the key in one hand, Brodie’s extra gun in the other. “You just step back until I get this door open.”

  “Thank you, Deputy.” Maggie smiled sweetly as she walked past him and out the door to the privy. Glancing around, she saw a few people milling about at the far end of the alley, but they weren’t paying them any attention. “I won’t take long.”

  Walking around to the door that faced a large stand of trees, she stepped inside, using the piece of wood in one corner to brace it closed. Steeling herself, Maggie thought through what she was about to do. Earlier, while lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, she’d gone over the plan until it became real and not another one of her fantasies.

  Her stomach roiled as she studied the piece of wood holding the door closed. It had been her plan to use it to knock Jack out, grab his gun, and take off. After what happened to Arnie, the thought of striking another man, someone who’d done her no harm, didn’t feel right. Yet she had no choice. This was her one chance at freedom. When Brodie returned, her opportunity would be lost and there might never be another. With a shaky hand, she grasped the rough-hewn stick, tightening her fingers around it. Taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, she pushed the door open a crack, then shrank back at the sound of gunfire.

  “Deputy, you gotta come quick. They’re holding a man at gunpoint.” She could hear what sounded like boots running on gravel, a man panting as if out of breath.

  “I can’t come now. I gotta—”

  “Jack, the men are threatening to kill him,” the man rasped out. “You are the new deputy, right?”

  A crack between the boards allowed her enough space to peek through, seeing a short man holding a
bowler hat in one hand, gesturing down the street with the other.

  “Well, yes, I’m the new deputy, but—”

  “They say he tried to sneak out of the hotel without paying his bill. Now they’re saying they’ll kill him if he doesn’t pay up.”

  She could see the indecision on Jack’s face as he glanced over his shoulder at the front of the privy.

  “We don’t have time for you to fiddle around, Jack. Come on.” The man took off at a run, gesturing for Jack to follow.

  “Hold on. I’m coming.” He faced the privy. “Miss King, now you just stay right there and don’t go nowhere. I’ll be right back. You hear me?”

  She sucked in a breath, not quite believing her good fortune. “Yes, I hear you.”

  “All right then. You just wait for me.” He ran after the man, not once glancing back over his shoulder before he dashed around a corner and disappeared.

  Still holding the stick in her hand, she pushed the door open, took a good look around, and ran.

  “She told me she’d wait, Sheriff. Promised not to leave.” Jack sat outside the jail, his face buried in his hands as he waited for Brodie to dismount and walk up the steps.

  “Who, Jack?” Brodie fisted his hands on his hips, glaring at the deputy, a sense of dread washing over him.

  Jack glanced up. “Miss King. She—”

  Brodie didn’t wait to hear the rest. Throwing the door open, he dashed to the back, his jaw dropping, first at her empty cell, then at the man who sat on the bed of another.

  “Afternoon, Sheriff. Seems you may be missing a prisoner.” Sam Covington crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

  “What the hell are you doing in there, Covington?” Brodie didn’t look at him, his gaze still fixed on the cell where he’d left Maggie the night before.

  “Seems there’s been an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  “Another one? Appears those misunderstandings seem to follow you around.” Trying to contain his anger before he lit into Jack, Brodie focused on Sam. “What happened?”

  “I made the poor choice of staying the night upstairs at Lucky’s Saloon. When I awoke, my money, watch, and identification were gone.”

  “So you took off?”

  “Of course not.” His indignant voice almost had Brodie grinning. “I decided a trip to the bank was needed, as well as another telegram to Pinkerton. Before I could leave, a couple gentlemen tossed me outside and threatened to kill me if I didn’t produce the money forthwith. When your new deputy showed up, they pressed charges. So here I am. A guest in your jail.”

  Muttering a curse, Brodie stared at Sam. “Just what I need,” he grumbled before turning to find Jack standing in the doorway of the jail. “Get in here and explain to me how one unarmed female got away from you.” He’d calmed down some since hearing of her escape. She couldn’t get far on foot without funds or a weapon.

  Brodie listened as Jack went through his version of what happened—taking her outside, the gunfire, arresting Sam, and realizing Maggie had run off.

  “Did you try to find her?”

  Jack shook his head. “I locked Covington inside, then went out to fetch her. Couldn’t tell which way she went with all the brush and thick leaves.” He jumped out of his chair and began to pace. “She told me she’d wait for me to get back, Sheriff.”

  Brodie pinched the bridge of his nose, sending an incredulous look at Jack. “And you believed her?”

  Jack’s face fell as he slumped back into the chair. “Maybe I ain’t cut out to be a deputy.”

  Maybe not, Brodie thought, shifting slightly in his chair to spear Jack with a hard look. “You made a mistake, lad. I’m going to guess you won’t make the same one again.”

  Jack shook his head. “No, sir. I learned my lesson good.”

  Brodie slapped his hands on the desk and stood. “Aye, I believe you probably did.” He had an idea while talking with Jack. One he wanted to put into action right away if he was going to start a search for Maggie.

  “Now, why would I want to do that, Sheriff?” Sam paced to the front of the cell, a smile tilting up the corners of his mouth.

  “Seems you don’t have much of a choice. Lucky’s is charging you with trying to avoid paying for your room, you have no identification, meaning no one knows exactly who you are, and you have no way to get more funds. Am I correct?” Brodie crossed his arms, resting his back against the wall separating the cells from the front of the jail. He wouldn’t admit he’d hoped the ex-Pinkerton man would make a mistake like this.

  “You can vouch for me. You have the telegram Allan Pinkerton sent, confirming my status as an agent.” Sam’s face hardened when he realized the game Brodie was playing.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t seem to recall any telegram.”

  Sam walked to within a breath of the bars, his gaze fixed on Brodie, who’d moved within a foot of him.

  “What do you want, MacLaren?”

  “You come to work for me as a deputy. I’ll pay the money to Lucky’s and get them to drop the charges.”

  “How long?”

  “A year.”

  Sam’s brutal curse echoed off the hard walls of the jail. Whirling around, his back to Brodie, and placing fisted hands on his hips, he looked at the ground, shaking his head as he got himself under control. “Don’t you believe that’s a little excessive given it’s for one night’s fare in a brothel.”

  “Nae. I think it’s fair. You could spend quite a long time trying to come up with the money to pay it on your own without a way to prove to the bank who you are, having no way to get in touch with Pinkerton.”

  Sam turned back to face Brodie. “You owe me a chance to reach him.”

  “Probably.” Brodie’s smile caught Sam off guard.

  He took a couple steps closer to the bars, his face resigned. “I’ll give you six months as your deputy, then I leave.”

  “Done.” Brodie reached his hand through the bars, waiting until Sam walked up and grasped it.

  “I’ll hand it to you, MacLaren. For a small town sheriff, you drive a hard bargain.”

  “I do what’s needed to get the job done.” Brodie unlocked the cell.

  “And my first job?” Sam walked through the door and into the front.

  “Help me find the missing prisoner.”

  Chapter Seven

  Stumbling from one hiding place to another, Maggie dropped down behind a stack of crates in an alley a few blocks from the jail. She’d been careful, dashing between buildings and crossing streets with little activity. Reaching an area where businesses gave way to private homes, she spotted the empty crates behind a carriage house. Glancing around the corner, she saw an impressive three story home with a wraparound porch and beautiful garden. Even her wildest fantasy never had her living in a place so grand.

  “Bring the carriage around to the front, Walter.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Fielder. I’ll do it right away.”

  At the sound of voices, Maggie huddled behind the crates, pulling one in front of her, hoping she wasn’t spotted.

  “Now, now, Sugar. You just let old Walter get this harness around you so we don’t keep Mr. Fielder waiting. That’s it, girl.”

  A few minutes later, the carriage appeared, making a sharp turn down the alley, narrowly missing Maggie by no more than a foot. Letting out a relieved breath, she pushed from her place on the hard dirt, doing her best to brush herself off.

  “Hey.”

  The sharp voice startled her. Whirling around, she saw a young man, no more than fifteen or sixteen, standing by the doors of the carriage house.

  “What are you doing back there?” He walked toward her, his face twisted into a menacing scowl.

  Maggie almost tripped on the hem of her dress as she stepped away from him. “I, uh…” Turning, she ran.

  “Stop!”

  The command did nothing to slow her down, but the sound of boots pounding on the hard dirt had her heart racing. When the alley en
ded, she hesitated for a brief moment, long enough for a strong hand to grip her arm and spin her around.

  “Got you.” The smirk on his face increased her panic.

  Drawing back her arm, she fisted her hand, swinging it forward to connect with his jaw. Dropping her arm, the boy staggered backward, wide eyes signaling his shock. This time Maggie didn’t hesitate. Racing between two homes, she made a sharp right turn, then another, then a left turn, hoping to lose him. Seeing the door to a root cellar, she pulled hard, surprised when it opened easily. Taking the steps down, she pulled the door closed and huddled in a far corner behind two wooden barrels.

  “Help me, Walter. She ran that way.” The boy’s voice indicated he wasn’t far behind, and someone else had joined him.

  Praying she’d made the right decision, Maggie brought her knees to her chest, circling them with her arms, then closed her eyes. Alarm spread through her when she heard voices just outside the cellar. Bringing her hands up, she covered her mouth, afraid she’d cry out in fear. Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she dropped her hands and listened.

  “No sign of her. I can’t believe it, Walter. I had her in my grasp, and…”

  “And what, boy?”

  “Ah, nothing. Come on. Mr. Fielder is probably standing out front of the house, wondering where we took off to.”

  The voices receded, but Maggie didn’t move. Adjusting to the dark, her gaze landed on a row of shelves. The top one held several old blankets and what appeared to be old clothes. The rest were filled with jars of food, baskets of fresh vegetables and fruit, and sacks of flour. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since supper the night before, but even her hunger wasn’t enough to dislodge her from the hiding place.

  When the cool dampness of the ground seeped through her clothes, she stood, shivering at the chill. Listening for sounds outside, she stepped toward the shelves, picking up a glass jar. Her mouth watered when she held it up to the small beam of light coming from a crack in the door. Peaches.