“Come in, dear. Come in.” Her voice was throaty, feminine, while her tone issued a brusque command.
At Tom’s urging, Jacy followed Abbie into the parlor, where she stood glued to a rug that resembled the one missing from her mother’s parlor down to the last needlepoint rose. Panic rose in Jacy’s throat. A lightheadedness swept over her, while anger stirred in her gut.
“Sit there, dear.” Abbie indicated a settee that, if it had once belonged to Margaret Kimble, had been recovered, which was definitely a possibility, given the familiarity of the carved walnut arms.
Jacy settled into the horsehair cushion, admonishing, Get hold of yourself. Remember why you are here. She was the first to acknowledge that there was probably a very good reason that Abbie Brownley was in possession of her mother’s furniture. Mama Dee said it was sold or given away. Could this be the woman who purchased it? Jacy didn’t have to like the situation, but she did have to pretend not to notice. Until all else was settled.
“So Fallon is dead.” Abbie sank back into the velvet cushion of an overstuffed chair, which Jacy did not recognize.
“Yes,” Tom responded. Jacy snapped back to the situation at hand.
“If it’s true,” Abbie mused, “it frees us all, doesn’t it? After all this time.”
Jacy resisted the urge to comment on how much better Abbie seemed to have endured all this time than the Kimbles. She hoped by free, the woman meant free to tell the truth, free to swear to it under oath.
In response, Jacy related the lie that had fast become the most important bit of information she had ever passed along, true or otherwise. “Trevor was killed this morning by a bounty hunter, Miss Brownley. In my presence. If I’m a bit nervous, you’ll forgive me, I hope. I’ve never witnessed a murder before.”
“How dreadful for you, dear.”
Again Jacy wasn’t exactly certain of Abbie Brownley’s meaning. Did she mean dreadful that Jacy had witnessed a murder today? Or dreadful that she had never witnessed one before? “I understand you might be able to help free my brother.”
Abbie Brownley, to give her credit, looked remorseful. “You must think I am the worst kind of monster, Miss Kimble, for not coming forward during the trial.”
Jacy held her tongue. Indeed, she did feel exactly that way, and more. She glanced around the roomful of familiar furniture. She couldn’t afford to offend the woman.
“My life was threatened,” Abbie explained. “I was shipped out of town on the first train east and required to remain away until everything was over, under penalty of death.” She looked to Tom. “Tell her, Tom. Tell her I speak the truth.”
“She believes you, Abbie. Now tell her what happened. Later, I’ll have Clem bring Judge Lindstrom by so you can make it official. But Miss Kimble needs to get back to her father, so as a favor to me, I’ll appreciate you leveling with her.”
Jacy’s plans had changed. She had no intention of setting one foot outside this town until the ink was dry on the order to free Hunter. Then she would take the train to Yuma to meet him when he was released.
Thoughts of Yuma brought visions of Trevor. His claim of being released in the night struck her with renewed terror. Where was he? Had he made it to safety? Or was he out there even now trying to find her? If only they had made arrangements to meet somewhere.
“Like Tom said,” Abbie began, drawing Jacy’s attention back to this hauntingly familiar room with her mother’s furniture and her father’s best friend—neither of which rang true anymore. “Your brother was a political scapegoat.”
“Political! That’s all anyone says. Papa couldn’t have been that much of a threat.”
Abbie and Tom exchanged glances. Tom responded. “Ever hear of the Selectors?”
“No.”
“They were a secret political group who supported Ernst for territorial governor,” he explained. “They were a pretty radical bunch of fellers—dedicated themselves to destroying Drummond Kimble.”
So her dignitaries had a name. The Selectors.
Abbie resumed the explanation. “Your brother got caught trying to protect you.”
Jacy felt a weakness deep in her stomach. “Me?”
“Hunter went to Ana’s to try to talk some sense into Trevor Fallon.”
“Sense?”
“When Hunter learned Fallon was seeing Ana regularly, he knew how much it would hurt you.”
Jacy’s brain froze on the words seeing Ana regularly. She felt like a cold north wind had blown in and sucked the life out of her, leaving her chilled to the bone. She clutched her arms in both hands and clung to them. For a long moment she wasn’t able to draw a breath. When finally she could, she wasn’t sure she could speak without crying.
Trevor and Ana? When he had sworn to her just last night that he had never been in the same room with the woman until the day she died.
The day she died. The day Trevor killed her. After he made love to her? Trevor was seeing Ana regularly. Regularly. Her breath came short. She dimly recalled the hatred she had felt for him for five long years. Where had it gone?
Mari was right. She loved him. But she shouldn’t. She couldn’t.
“What about the letter, Miss Brownley? My brother received a letter from Ana, requesting his presence.”
“Political, as I said. Your father’s political enemies got wind of Hunter’s plan and set him up.” The painted woman shrugged. “Hunter Kimble did not murder Ana Bowdrie. She was already dead when he arrived.”
Jacy felt numb. “It’s so hard to believe.” The words tumbled out, shocking Jacy as much as they did the others. Tom responded first.
“What’s hard to believe?”
But Abbie Brownley was already on her feet. She crossed the room and sat on the sofa beside Jacy, taking Jacy’s hands in her own. “I know it is hard, dear. Seeing the man you love shot down in front of you.”
Jacy gaped at the woman. It took her a moment to recall the tale she had concocted at the start of this day.
“It’s all right, dear. I understand your reluctance to believe wrong of him. But it’s true. Ana Bowdrie and I were close friends. She confided in me. You may have heard the rumor that your father was breaking off with Ana to improve his political image.”
Jacy’s mouth fell open. Indeed, she had heard that rumor. From Trevor’s own lips. Lips that had kissed her and…
“Several other men had begun to see Ana,” Abbie went on, “including Fallon.”
Jacy withdrew her hands, clasped them in her lap, and willed her senses to calm. What was it Trevor always said? Remember why we’re here? Remember why we came?
It didn’t matter whether she believed Abbie’s story about Trevor or not. She had come to save Hunter, not Trevor.
“What do you know that will free Hunter?” she asked, hoping to conceal the emotions raging inside her.
“I saw the murder,” Abbie said calmly.
“Saw?” Jacy thought she might choke.
“I saw Trevor Fallon kill Ana Bowdrie.” Then with an added thrust, the woman added, “I saw her struggle for her life against his superior strength. I saw her strike him with the brooch, like they showed in court.”
Trevor fighting, killing…Wes Hardin’s warning flashed through Jacy’s mind but was banished by memories of the night just past. Memories of Trevor’s tenderness and compassion—and passion.
“Why didn’t you tell all this before?” she demanded.
“I told you, dear. My life was threatened. I beg your forgiveness.”
Jacy ignored the request. “You will swear under oath and for the record that Hunter had nothing to do with the murder of Ana Bowdrie?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice low and level.
“I should have done it long ago. Now, at last, with Fallon dead, no one can hurt me.”
That made no sense. “How could Trevor have hurt you, Miss Brownley? He was in prison. Even from the first, while he was in jail, before the trial was over, how could Trevor have threatened you?”
/> Abbie reached a hand and stroked back a loose strand of Jacy’s hair. It was all she could do not to flinch. “Even in prison, a man has ways, my dear. Ways and means.”
Jacy still didn’t understand, but suddenly she couldn’t listen to any more. Not to any more nonsense. Not to another syllable spoken in Abbie Brownley’s sugary voice. She jumped to her feet and fled the room.
She could stand no more of this woman, no more of this house and its furnishings. She didn’t even want to know why Abbie Brownley ended up with her mother’s furnishings. What difference did it make? If she asked, she would probably be lied to. She didn’t want to hear any more lies. As long as they could save Hunter, what difference did any of it make?
“Jacy?” Tom’s voice followed her into the hallway. She jerked open the front door without pausing.
And she didn’t want to hear any more truths, either. Right now, the truths hurt most of all. If she chose to believe them.
Tom caught up and shepherded her down the packed-earth path. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to be free, alone. But she was too numb to argue.
She had believed Trevor. Really believed him. Now she didn’t know what to believe. About anything.
Clem Spence met them as they exited the yard. “Received a wire back from Wes Hardin,” he told them. “Says he’ll have the documents concerning Drummond Kimble’s incompetence on the night train.” Clem squinted through the bright sunlight toward Jacy. “Says to thank you for warning him about that rare snake, that he’ll make sure it’s found and cared for.” He eyed Jacy. “What’s he talking about?”
“Wes Hardin collects reptiles,” she said weakly, repeating the explanation she had given Tom earlier. A lie. One of several she had told today. If she could lie, why couldn’t they? Why couldn’t Tom or Abbie or Clem? Or Trevor?
Trevor. If she got hold of him before Hardin’s men, he would need caring for. Hadn’t she threatened to kill him herself if she ever learned he slept with Ana Bowdrie? Damn him! Damn him to hell!
It wasn’t that she actually believed Abbie over Trevor. But Abbie had rekindled the flame of doubt she had held for five long years. Would she ever know the truth?
Would the truth matter if Hunter were free?
Yes. Deep inside, she knew it would always matter. Whether she ever saw Trevor again or not, it would matter. She doubted him, and even a smidgen of doubt could wreck the best of relationships. Tom Guest brought her back to the present.
“Clem,” Tom bid, “you run ahead and purchase Miss Kimble a ticket to El Paso. We’ll meet you at the station.”
Jacy came to a halt. “Wait a minute, Tom.” She summoned her scattered sensibilities. “I’m already here. I might as well stay until the paperwork is completed. Who knows, something might be missing.”
“I can always wire you—”
“If I can impose,” she interrupted, trying to keep the anger from her voice, “I need a couple of rooms at the hotel, and a couple of one-way tickets to Yuma. I want to meet Hunter when he is released.”
“That’s not a good idea, Jacy. Yuma’s a rough place.” His eyes said something else was on his mind. “Two rooms? Two tickets?”
“Papa said Mama Dee is still at the ranch. Would you send someone out to bring her in? I’m taking her home to Texas with me.”
He stared at her a long time, while she watched him question how she knew so much. “Jacy, you don’t know what you’re getting into,” he replied at length. “You need to run on back to El Paso—”
She hadn’t intended to mention it. She told herself that she would be much better served not knowing, not asking. But he had stretched what patience she had left. “By the way, Tom, what is that woman doing with my mother’s furniture?”
Tom swallowed hard. He stroked his chin hair and studied the horizon for several long minutes. Finally, he excused Clem Spence with, “Run along and engage those rooms at the Gila Inn. Two of them. I’ll catch you later.”
When Clem was out of earshot, Tom took her elbow and ushered her down the middle of the street. She allowed it, seething inside.
“I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice.”
“It’s Papa who lost his mind, Tom. Not me. I grew up with that furniture. It belonged to my mother.”
“Yes. But it’s a long story. Perhaps best kept for another day.”
“I’m only here for a short time,” she reminded him. “I need to know.”
He sighed. “Clem Spence took the Diamond K in exchange for legal services.”
She nodded without comment. What good would it do to diffuse the matter at hand by commenting on the ineffectiveness of Clem’s defense of Hunter?
“I bought it from him.”
When she didn’t respond, he turned raised brows her way. “Something tells me you already knew that.”
“Suspected. Go ahead.”
“Oleta was fairly put out with me. Said it was like grave robbing. I looked at it differently. Way I saw things, I was helping preserve the best of what Drummond had spent his life building.”
A self-serving attitude if Jacy ever heard one. She let it pass.
“Oleta refused to set one foot in that house until I removed your mother’s furnishings.”
“I see. So you gave them to Abbie?”
“Sold,” he said in a croak of a voice that belied the statement.
“She has a lovely house,” Jacy commented.
“It isn’t like you think, Jacy. I—”
“That’s enough, Tom. I understand now. What possible purpose could I have for wanting to know anything except what it will take to clear Hunter and get him out of Yuma and get us both home to our family? I’ve heard enough lies to last a lifetime.”
When he objected, she added, “And enough truths. I don’t think I can stand another of either one.”
The Gila Inn was a spreading adobe, but that’s where all grandeur ended. Not that it mattered. The way Jacy felt, she wouldn’t have recognized grandeur if she had been led into it by a brass band. Tom helped her get her key, told the proprietor to bring supper around later and put it all on his bill. He walked her to her room, like a concerned parent.
Which would have been right in character until the last few days. He and Papa had been best friends. Looking back, she knew she would have expected Tom to come to her aid, the same way Drummond would have come to Tommy’s aid—before Drummond lost his mind.
But tonight she questioned everything. Was Tom truly the concerned friend of the family he pretended to be? What had happened five years ago? He said he bought the ranch from Clem. Had he? Why hadn’t Papa known? Or knowing, why hadn’t Drummond told her?
And why did it matter? Didn’t Tom Guest have as much right as the next man to live his life as he saw fit?
“I’ll bring Dee in first thing in the morning,” Tom told her outside the door to the room he had engaged for her. “No sense making the trip tonight.”
And Mama Dee? Why hadn’t she returned to Virginia? Why had Papa claimed she had? Why was she working for Tom?
Opening off the inner courtyard with its dry, cracked-tile fountain, the room was small and dusty, but clean.
“When do you think the papers from El Paso will arrive?” she asked.
“Could be late tomorrow. Day after for sure.”
“How long until the governor issues the pardon?”
“Leave that to me, Jacy. I’ll have it done with time to spare. Now you get some rest. You don’t want that brother of yours to see you all tired out and weepy.”
Weepy? She hadn’t cried all day, but no sooner had Tom left than tears started to flow. Unable to stop them, she finally threw herself on the bed and sobbed into the dusty spread.
Her heart pounded; the buzz in her ears became deafening; she imagined the throb in her throat choking her.
She thought vaguely of getting up and shaking the dust out of the bedspread. She would do it later. Later, after she rested a while. She had never felt such a bone tiredness. She wasn’
t sure she could ever get up again.
And the tiredness lay heaviest in her heart. Had Trevor lied about Ana? She wanted to believe him. She should believe him. Certainly over a person who had remained silent for five long years. Yet, the doubt had been there all along, strengthened by those letters, by the testimony in court. And denied by Trevor, she retorted, angry that she couldn’t believe him.
How could he have murdered Ana? Or Yancy? Or anyone?
She should be rejoicing for Hunter’s release. But her thoughts would not be corralled. Why would Abbie lie, now that everything was over? Had Trevor turned out to be the black-hearted villain Papa always claimed?
Why had Hunter gone to Ana’s? True, he and Trevor were the best of friends, but why would he try to keep his own sister from learning of the man’s villainous ways?
Her thin hard pillow was soon wet. But her sobs wouldn’t stop. They came in great hiccupping gasps that shook her shoulders. In the midst of it all she heard was a pounding on the door.
For an instant she froze. Then she relaxed. Mama Dee! No, it couldn’t be morning. Then she recalled Tom ordering supper to be delivered. She wasn’t hungry.
“Go away.”
When the knocking persisted, she rose, wiped a sleeve over her face and pulled open the door.
“Evening, Jace.”
Evening? It wasn’t even twilight yet. He could be seen.
What did she care? She tried to slam the door on him.
“What’s going on?”
She shoved harder, but he was the stronger and easily pushed her aside, stepped into the room, and closed the door behind him.
He looked her over from head to toe, his gaze coming to rest on her swollen face. She patted her eyes self-consciously.
“God, Jace, what happened?”
“Get out of here. Get out of my life.” He didn’t budge. He filled the room. Like he filled her life. He and all the questions he raised. Was he honest and truthful? Or was he the biggest liar of them all? She searched his face for a sign. All she saw was confusion.
“What the hell happened after I kissed you good-bye this morning? Are you hurt? Are you—”
Branded Page 22
