Brodie's Gamble

by Shirleen Davies

  Brodie’s head snapped up from the list he’d been preparing. “Gwen leave Buckie’s? She’s what makes the saloon so popular.”

  Chuckling, Sam set the cup down. “I’ve heard the same more than once. You know, she and I talked about it a few nights before the earthquake hit. She’d never intended to earn her living on her back.”

  Brodie nodded. He knew her history. How she’d emigrated from Ireland, then followed her lover to San Francisco. After his death, she moved to Conviction. Unable to find a respectable job, she’d taken what was offered—work as one of Buckie’s ladies. At first, she’d seen it as degrading and humiliating. Over time, she’d come to accept it, forgetting her dreams of one day finding a husband and raising a family.

  “Aye. The lass took the only job she could get and has never been able to leave it. This could be the chance for a new start…if the people of Conviction will accept her as something other than what she’s been. Did Gwen accept his offer?” Brodie hoped she had.

  “According to Doc, she’s considering it.” Sam picked up his cup, poured some water into it and sloshed it around, then dumped the liquid into a bucket next to the stove.

  “The lass would be daft if she turned it down.”

  Sam grinned as he opened the door. “We both know she’s anything but daft. Gwen will take the job, I’m certain of it. I need to make the rounds of the north section of town, see if any more damage has been discovered. I’ll be back by the time you leave for the council meeting.”

  Brodie glanced up. “Have you seen Jack around?”

  “Several times. The young chap seems incapable of sitting still for longer than a few minutes. He’s been helping some of the merchants clean up in between making his rounds of the south end of town.” Sam closed the door as he stepped onto the boardwalk, letting Brodie digest the comments he’d made about Gwen.

  The ex-Pinkerton man hadn’t been in Conviction long, yet he seemed to have formed a friendship with her. Brodie knew trusting didn’t come easy to Gwen, especially when it involved men. She was close to a couple other ladies at Buckie’s, and over the years, her fondness for the MacLarens had turned into them seeing her as an older sister, someone they could confide in and who would never betray their trust. Brodie would do anything he could to help her, and knew his cousins felt the same.

  “Sheriff. Hold up.”

  Brodie glanced behind him, stifling a groan at the sight of Harold Ivers. He’d wondered when the newspaperman would show up again

  “I don’t have time to talk right now. I’m already running late for a town council meeting.” Brodie didn’t stop, knowing his refusal wouldn’t halt Ivers from following him.

  “Very good, Sheriff. I’m on my way there myself.”

  Brodie relaxed. Maybe Harold would focus his attention on the town’s efforts to rebuild after the earthquake instead of trying to dig up more details on Arnie Stoddard’s death.

  “From what I know, there is one item on the agenda today—helping the townsfolk rebuild. Nothing else.” He locked his gaze on Harold. “Am I clear?”

  “Of course. The meeting is about the earthquake. Afterwards, though, I’d like a few minutes of your time to ask questions about the woman who murdered Stoddard.”

  Brodie’s abrupt stop had Ivers tripping over his own feet. “She’s in custody, but has not had a trial. As I said before, I wouldn’t label her a murderess and neither should you.” He continued walking.

  “From what I heard, she confessed—”

  “To hitting the man, not murdering him.” As always, Brodie’s patience withered as Harold continued to keep pace with him. “Her attorney will work it out and present the case.”

  Harold’s steps faltered. “Attorney? I hadn’t heard anything about her hiring someone.”

  “Aye. He took the case yesterday.”

  “Who is it?”

  “August Fielder.” Brodie felt a surge of satisfaction when the pencil fell through Harold’s fingers, rolling on the boardwalk until it slipped through a crack and disappeared from sight. “Hope you have another pencil, Ivers. You’re going to need it.”

  “What do you mean you’re helping Fielder defend Maggie?” Syd’s voice roared above the noise of the saloon crowd, causing many to stop and stare. “Do you want the woman who killed our brother to get away with it?” He threw back the whiskey in his glass, slamming it onto the bar, nodding at the bartender for a refill.

  Joel watched his older brother, always wary of what he might do. The wrong word or wrong look could cause a blowup, usually ending with Joel sprawled on the ground with a bloody nose… or worse.

  Taking a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, he looked at Syd’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “If she’s innocent, she won’t be getting away with anything.”

  “But she killed him,” Syd hissed, gripping his glass tight enough for his knuckles to turn white.

  “You don’t know that, Syd. Neither of us were there when it happened. It could’ve been anybody. Maybe someone Arnie swindled tracked him down and got their revenge.” Joel leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Do you truly believe Maggie could’ve done what we heard? Bashed in his face, then buried him?” He shook his head. “No. She would’ve knocked him out, then gotten as far away as she could before he woke up and exacted his punishment. You and I both know how ruthless his punishment could be.”

  Syd didn’t respond, slipping deeper into his alcohol-induced darkness. Another sign Joel needed to be careful around him.

  Joel didn’t know why he’d come into Buckie’s, except to relax after being awake for over thirty-six hours. The thick book Fielder had given him took every minute of his time since leaving the man’s mansion. He’d taken copious notes and reread several chapters in preparation for their meeting later in the afternoon.

  No matter what Syd thought, Joel refused to believe Maggie guilty of murder. He also believed the only way to clear her name would be to find the person who did kill Arnie—a monumental task requiring help.

  Finishing his drink, Joel set the glass down and cast a wary gaze at Sydney. “You aren’t going to do anything foolish, are you?”

  The look Syd shot him would cower most men, but not Joel. “What are you thinking I’ll do?” He signaled the bartender again. This time Joel shot him a warning glare.

  “You may want to ease up on that, Syd.”

  “My drinking ain’t none of your business. But you defending Arnie’s killer is mine.”

  Joel’s jaw tightened, knowing Syd was capable of doing just about anything when the alcohol took control.

  “I’m going to tell you what I don’t want you to do, then I’m leaving. Don’t take the law into your own hands. Don’t incite people to believe Maggie’s guilty. And, unless you have some proof otherwise, don’t try to stop me. As God is my witness, I’ll push back, Syd, and you won’t like the Joel you see.” Turning, he strode out of Buckie’s, leaving his slack-jawed brother behind.

  “Excellent meeting, gentlemen. I believe we have a plan in place. With Sheriff MacLaren’s leadership, I’m confident the town will be back to normal within weeks. Now, if there is nothing else, we’ll adjourn.” Fielder stood, turning to the men on either side of him and shaking hands.

  “Mr. Fielder, do you have a few minutes to speak with me?” Harold Ivers wasted no time moving forward.

  “I believe you heard it all at the meeting, Ivers. There is nothing more I can add.” August picked up his hat, intending to leave, when Harold stepped in front of him.

  “This is about you defending Miss King.”

  “I see. And what is it you’d like to know?”

  “First, why did you agree to defend a woman so clearly guilty and is without funds?” Harold’s intent gaze missed the flash of anger on August’s face.

  "Mr. Ivers, let me be clear. Miss King’s guilt is far from proven. As for her lack of funds, surely you know that is of no concern to you or your readers. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

 
“My understanding is the woman confessed to killing Stoddard.”

  August’s face turned red, the only outward sign of his acute irritation.

  “You have your facts wrong, sir. Let me give you some advice. I’d think twice before printing any of the drivel that so easily passes through your lips as truth. The truth of Mr. Stoddard’s death is still to be determined, and that information will be heard in front of a judge. The woman will not be tried and convicted in your newspaper. Am I clear, Mr. Ivers?”

  Shaken by the public rebuke, Harold swallowed the lump in his throat, then stepped back as Fielder walked past.

  “You can’t stop the truth from coming out, Mr. Fielder.”

  “It’s not the truth I’m worried about. It’s the stream of innuendoes and insinuations which concern me. Now, I really must leave. Good day to you, sir.”

  Brodie didn’t move a muscle as he listened to the exchange, wishing he were as adept at handling the pesky newspaperman.

  “Brodie.”

  His head snapped toward the familiar voice. “Da.”

  Ewan cleared his throat. “You handled yourself well today, lad.”

  Brodie nodded. “It wasn’t hard. The lads helped me talk to people, figure out what needed to be done. All I did was give the report.”

  “And volunteer to lead the rebuilding.”

  “Aye, but there’s not as much as there could’ve been. I’ve gotten telegrams from San Francisco and San Jose. They have much more damage than Conviction. Thanks to everyone working together, much of the destruction is cleaned up, awaiting repairs.”

  Ewan nodded, proud of his son, realizing how much he’d already grown in his new role. “You’ve not been to the ranch in a while. Your ma is missing you, lad.”

  Brodie’s stomach twisted at the mild rebuke. He loved his family and missed them, too.

  “Is my chair still available for Sunday supper?”

  “Aye, although we may need to dust it off.” Ewan’s sincere grin broke the tension. “First, have supper with me before I ride back.”

  A warning sounded in Brodie’s head. “Is there something wrong at the ranch?”

  “Nae. Everyone is fine. We can talk over supper.”

  “Walk with me to the jail. I need to let my deputies know what happened at the meeting. I’d like you to meet them. Then I need to stop at the clinic to check on someone.”

  “Ah. Your prisoner?” Ewan’s voice held no judgment as he glanced at Brodie.

  “Aye. I need to see how she’s doing.”

  “According to your brother, she’s someone I should meet.”

  Brodie groaned, guessing what Fletcher, or any of his cousins, might have said. He’d already stopped in to see her three times since leaving his bed that morning. Each time she seemed more lucid, her eyes more focused, although the wariness remained. She didn’t trust him.

  They’d spoken little. With Fielder as her lawyer, the fact she wouldn’t speak to him didn’t bother Brodie. He had confidence in Fielder’s abilities.

  What he hoped for, found himself lying awake thinking about, was the day he could open the cell and allow Maggie her freedom. Although it was a gamble, knowing he didn’t deserve it, Brodie wanted to find a way to convince her to stay in Conviction and give him a chance, give them a chance, because what he’d seen in her eyes, felt in her touch, could never be erased. And, with every fiber in his being, Brodie believed Maggie felt the same.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What do you mean Heather took a job with Mrs. Evanston?” Brodie held his drink suspended partway to his mouth.

  “I’m surprised your brother didn’t tell you when he was in town yesterday. It’s all the family has talked about the last week—besides the topic of you never coming to visit.” Ewan quirked a brow at Brodie.

  “I’ll be there Sunday, Da.” Brodie sighed, accepting he’d need to do some groveling for his ma’s benefit, even if he was an adult and the decision to take the sheriff job was his to make. Still, the family had always discussed all big changes. “Why did she decide to work for the widow?”

  “We don’t know. She rode off one morning with Fletcher and Sean to look for strays. As always, she left them behind, taking a trail south to the Evanston ranch. They didn’t think much about it until she returned a few hours later and told them she’d agreed to work for Mildred. While we were all at Sunday supper, the lass snuck back and took her clothes. Audrey is still raging.”

  “What about Caleb?”

  “The lad shrugged it off, although I don’t believe that’s how he feels.” Ewan nodded at August Fielder as he and another man he didn’t recognize walked into the Gold Dust, taking seats at a table across the room. “If the lass would open her eyes, she’d see all she ever wants is right in front of her at the Circle M.”

  Brodie’s attention focused on Fielder and the man with him. His features looked familiar, yet he felt certain he’d never met the man.

  “If you want, I’ll ride out to Widow Evanston’s to check on her, Da, make sure all is well.” He saw the look on his da’s face, knowing he understood. “It may be I’ll see Heather while I’m there.”

  Ewan nodded. “Audrey would be grateful.” He stopped when their meal arrived, waiting until the woman walked away. “Tell me about Miss King.”

  Brodie’s gaze narrowed at his father. “You saw her. As soon as the doctor says it is all right, I’ll move her back to her cell.”

  Brodie and Ewan had stopped at the clinic after a brief visit at the jail to let Sam and Jack know the decision of the town council. When they’d stepped toward the bed, Brodie sucked in a shaky breath.

  The bruising had worsened. Her face, neck, chest, and arms were covered in patches of purple and yellow. Scratches crisscrossed her skin. Doc Vickery had set her left arm, telling Brodie it would be weeks, possibly months before she recovered. His main concern was the gash on her head. They’d left a few minutes later, Maggie never aware of the visit.

  “You don’t mean to put her back in jail in her condition?” Ewan set his fork down. “The lass needs to be somewhere she can heal, which isn’t on one of your uncomfortable beds with a mattress no thicker than a blanket.”

  Brodie leaned back in his chair, still aware of Fielder across the room. “What would you have me do, Da? She’s wanted for murder. Until she stands trial, I have to keep her locked up.”

  “Then find a place where she has a regular bed and someone to watch over her. Your ma would be furious if she knew your plans for the lass.”

  Brodie stiffened at the mention of his mother. He thought of the small house the town provided him at the end of the same street as the jail. One bedroom and a main room, including a living area and kitchen. His bedroom at the ranch had been bigger.

  “The safest place for her is in the jail where Sam, Jack, or I can watch her. Doc Vickery is across the street if she needs him.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I could ask Gwen to sit with her.”

  “Gwen? The woman who works at Buckie’s?”

  Brodie’s eyes flared, his mouth tilting up at the corners. His father rarely came to town other than on ranch business or to attend a meeting. Brodie had no idea he knew about Gwen. “Aye. Doc Vickery offered her a job. Do you know Gwen?”

  “Do you mean in the same sense the rest of you boys do?”

  Chuckling, Brodie held up his hands, palms out, feeling his face flush. “I’d say you don’t know what you’re talking about, except I’d be lying.”

  Ewan grinned at his son’s obvious embarrassment. “You don’t have to admit anything to me, lad. It’s the way of things for young men everywhere.”

  Brodie nodded, his face sobering. “Yes, sir. It’s the same woman, and I’d be lucky to have her watching over Maggie.”

  Ewan rubbed his stubbled chin. In his fifties, he had always been a handsome man, the same as all the MacLaren uncles. As tall and broad as their sons, they’d been a force. The deaths of Colin’s father, Angus, and Quinn’s father, Gil
lis, had changed the dynamics, forcing all the cousins to shoulder more of a burden at a younger age.

  “In her condition, I suppose there’s little chance she could escape. A woman watching over her will make a difference.”

  “Aye, Da. She also needs to be where Mr. Fielder can meet with her.”

  “August is a good man, and from what I’ve heard, an exceptional lawyer. He said the two of you will be riding out to the Stoddard place tomorrow.”

  Brodie nodded. “He wants to see where Stoddard died. I’ll show him what I found.” He leaned forward, intending to tell Ewan more, when Fielder approached their table with his guest close behind.

  “Gentlemen.” Fielder inclined his head toward the man beside him. “I’d like you to meet Joel Stoddard.”

  Brodie shoved his chair back and stood, his body tense. “Another brother? Are you after Miss King’s life, too?” He could see the man’s convulsive swallow, his face pale.

  “Sheriff,” Fielder warned.

  “I can understand why you’d think that, but I have no desire to see Maggie punished for a crime I don’t believe she committed.”

  The two studied each other, neither noticing Ewan come up beside Brodie.

  Fielder stepped forward. “Joel sought me out. The man has a law degree and is offering to help with Miss King’s defense. I’ve invited him to accompany us to the cabin tomorrow. No harm in having another set of eyes looking over the place, especially when the man used to live there.”

  Brodie had no reason to dislike the man who stood a couple inches shorter than he, with a face his mother, Lorna, would call angelic. No stubble, as if he’d never shaved, his clear eyes warm and guileless. As he studied Joel, Brodie found himself wondering how close he and Maggie were, if they ever had feelings for each other. A wave of something Brodie didn’t like gripped him, his hands flexing at his sides. Jealousy had never been a sensation he’d experienced. If this were it, he didn’t like it. Not one darn bit.

  “If it suits the two of you, meet me at the jail after dawn and we’ll ride out. When was the last time you saw the cabin, Mr. Stoddard?”