Fugitive hearts, p.20
Fugitive Hearts, page 20
On the other hand, Henry cared about Billy. He’d been the one to suggest she take the boy, and would be willing to look after him if she ended up in prison—or worse. “Thank you, Mr. Moore. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“If you have nothing further to add, I’ll take my leave.” The lawyer pushed to his feet using his cane. He put on his black hat then knocked on the bars to alert the sheriff their conversation was done.
The door leading into the sheriff’s office opened. Frank unlocked the cell to allow the lawyer to leave. His expression remained grim when he returned. When he entered the small space, it seemed to shrink in size.
Her back struck the brick wall behind her. She hadn’t realized she’d moved away.
He apparently had, which might account for the disappointment on his face. He must know she didn’t trust him. Would never trust him again. “You could walk out of here, Claire. All you have to do is tell the truth.”
“No matter what I say, I look guilty.”
The utter irony of her situation wasn’t lost on her. She could shout her innocence from the treetops. No one would believe her. Not after she’d admitted to being the culprit.
She wouldn’t escape a murder charge without a confession from Billy.
Frank paced the cramped cell like a caged tiger. An uninformed observer might think he was the one imprisoned. “We’ll have you out of here as soon as we find Billy.”
Fear constricted her heart. “Are you going after him?”
“Not until after the hearing.”
“When is that?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
Day after tomorrow might end up being the worst day of her life. Or the second worst day. She threw an anxious glance outside at the spot where the gallows would be built, should she be convicted of murder. If she were to hang, that day would definitely be the worst.
Claire hugged her shawl. It wasn’t cold enough in here to be shivering. Part of her wanted Billy found so she would know he was safe. Another part wished he’d remain hidden for his own sake. “If you find him, you mustn’t force him to testify. He’s done nothing wrong.”
“Running from a crime is wrong.”
“Billy isn’t to blame.”
“This isn’t about blame. It’s about justice.”
“Justice?” She was tempted to spit on the floor. “You can speak of justice after I’ve lost my home, my freedom, possibly my life, based on the word of a schemer?”
“Bond won’t get away with his lies. I won’t let him.”
She didn’t doubt Frank’s determination. It wouldn’t be enough. It never was when money and power were involved.
She whirled away to look out the window so she wouldn’t see her fear reflected in his eyes.
His hands hovered at her shoulders.
Claire held her breath, at the same time, she cursed her weakness. She knew better than to want him. If only her heart would listen to her head.
He grasped her shoulders. His warm hands provided more comfort than a fire on a winter’s night.
Fire could also burn and destroy.
“You’re a survivor, Claire.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Like those trailing roses my mother brought with her to Kansas. They lived, even bloomed, in spite of heat, cold, drought.”
He turned her around and captured her chin. He’d dropped the sheriff mask and his expression revealed gut-wrenching desperation. “Why won’t you tell the truth? Why would you throw your life away?”
Frank understood so many things about her. Why couldn’t he grasp the most important one?
“Because I need to protect Billy. That’s what a mother does. It’s what your mother did, and she would tell you, if she could. Children, like roses, need someone to look after them. Someone to care for them.”
He folded her against his chest with a groan. “I care about you.”
“I know you do,” she choked out. He’d shown her in many ways how much he cared. As a fierce protector who could also be gentle. He exercised power with restraint. Honest, most of the time. Brave, all the time. Fair-minded. Committed to upholding what was right and just. He possessed the traits she’d looked for in a man, but had never found.
Frank wasn’t perfect, not by a far stretch. But he was the man whose shape she knew in her heart. Here, in his arms, with her cheek pressed against the lapel of his vest and her nose buried in his chambray shirt, smelling of leather and laundry soap, she had found, at last, the place she belonged.
She splayed her fingers on his chest. Closed them over the cold metal of a sheriff’s badge.
The hopeful winds, which had lifted her spirits, stilled. Her wings faltered. She couldn’t sustain the dream any longer and plummeted back to reality.
He might care for her. Yet, it didn’t change who he was or what he had to do. His rock-solid honor was one reason she loved him. It was also the reason they couldn’t be together.
Frank Garrity had declared his commitment to pursuing justice under the law. The law would not give Billy either justice or mercy. She had the power to give him both. If she had the courage.
“You once told me you felt responsible for your wife and child. You would die for them if you could do it over again, wouldn’t you?”
Frank put his face against her hair. “It’s not the same.”
“It is the same. It’s exactly the same.” She clung to him, frightened. Needing his firmness, his resolve. Desperate for him to stand beside her and uphold her so she could pass the hardest test her heart had ever faced. “Please, Frank. Don’t fight me on this. Help me to be strong.”
Chapter 23
Claire would let herself hang before she put Billy on the stand. If she wouldn’t save herself, someone had to do it.
Frank stopped outside the mercantile to read a new brass plaque outside the door. G.W. Moore, Attorney at Law.
He’d won several land disputes against the rich and powerful railroad. The old settlers swore he walked on water.
Sounded like the kind of lawyer Claire needed.
Frank took a set of stairs up to a door that stood open.
Moore sat in his modest office, which was equipped with a writing table, a bookcase filled with thick volumes, and two chairs. Dignified, but not showy.
The lawyer came to his feet behind the desk. Papers and legal books were scattered across its surface. More papers and books were in boxes on either side.
“Good afternoon, sheriff. Please, have a seat. Pardon the mess. I’m still getting moved in.” The lawyer’s soft drawl set Frank’s teeth on edge, even after all these years.
Men who sounded like Moore had attacked his home and murdered his father. An aristocratic Southern accent didn’t mean Moore had done anything wrong. Although the scuttlebutt around town had him pegged as a former slave owner. Frank had an abiding dislike for men who presumed they had the right to possess another human being. For the time being, he’d put aside his personal dislike and do business with the Devil if it would save Claire.
“Don’t care to sit.” Frank drew back his coat and hooked his thumbs over his gun belt.
Moore’s gaze flickered over the Colts, unimpressed or unconcerned. “What can I do for you?”
“What can you do for Mrs. Daines, is what you mean,” Frank corrected. “That’s what I hired you for.”
Yesterday, Claire had begged for his help. God, he would do anything for her, but he could not do as she asked. He couldn’t stand by and watch her hang.
He’d hoped being in jail would dissolve her resistance. It hadn’t worked. Neither had reason. Or threats. Or pleas. He was clean out of ideas, and she was running out of time. Moore better have a plan.
“Claire won’t blame Billy.”
The lawyer shifted in his chair to lean back, perhaps so he wouldn’t have to crick his neck to make eye contact. “Did you expect she would?”
“I figured you might talk some sense into her. She seems more determined than ever. Told me to stop pestering her. Said I ought to understand.”
“You’d die for them.”
Frank’s heart constricted as her words came back to him. God yes. If it were possible to go back in time, he would take his wife’s place. Claire’s situation wasn’t the same. Sarah and the unborn child had been innocent bystanders. Billy made a choice to pick up a gun. Claire might feel responsible, even guilty about him getting involved in a domestic quarrel, but she wasn’t at fault for what happened.
“Are you certain she didn’t kill her husband?” Moore asked him.
“As sure as I’m standing here.”
The lawyer crossed his arms over his chest. His rolled-up shirtsleeves, revealed tanned, muscular forearms. Surprising, for a skinny fellow who spent his days indoors, pushing a pencil. “Well, then. If she won’t speak in her own defense, you’ll have to speak for her.”
Frank let out a disbelieving laugh. This wasn’t a plan. “How can I speak in her defense? I’m supposed to present facts about the crime. Not give my opinion of the accused. All I have is a hunch, based on what I suspect. It’ll be my word against hers.”
Moore nodded. “That’s right.”
“What the hell kind of defense is that?”
“A better one than what she has now.”
Frank shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was the best Moore could come up with? “No wonder you boys lost the war.”
“Let’s not bring my friends into this,” Moore said smoothly, with a hint of dryness in his tone.
Frank couldn’t pace in the cramped office. He moved from behind one chair to the other. “What about Bond’s shenanigans? Don’t you find it odd that Mr. Daines would sign his hotel over to a man who took his brother-in-law’s job?”
“Mrs. Daines told me her husband didn’t care for her brother. He resented having a hotel thrust on him. He may have found satisfaction in selling it to Mr. Stevens’ replacement.”
Frank halted abruptly, surprised, and more than a little angry. “You’re supposed to uncover dirt on Bond. Discredit him as a witness. Not strengthen his statement.”
“And you’re supposed to be looking for a missing boy,” Moore pointed out in an irritatingly friendly tone.
“The hearing’s tomorrow. I can’t leave before that. I sent my deputy after him.” For some reason, this came out sounding like a weak excuse.
Gideon’s tracking skills equaled, if not exceeded, his. Not to mention, he wouldn’t leave Claire to a pack of wolves.
“Other than testifying, locating Billy is the best thing you can do for Mrs. Daines.”
Frank pointed his finger at the useless lawyer. “The best thing you can do is come up with a better plan than putting me on the stand to spout my opinions about her innocence.”
“What do you think I’m working on?” Moore motioned with ink-stained hands at the documents and legal books scattered across his desk. “Do you have any idea why Mr. Bond would want a hotel?”
“Because he’s a greedy bastard.”
“That’s your opinion?”
“No, it’s a fact. He cut everybody’s pay but his own. Ask the men who work for him. He let crews go, cut back on maintenance, fired his security officers. And, he seems to think I ought to police his trains in my free time.”
“Austere measures in a bad economy?”
“Or somebody higher pulling his strings.”
“Someone who would want the hotel?”
“Maybe. It might not have anything to do with the hotel.” Frank removed his hat to plow his fingers through his sweaty hair. Confound it. What had he missed? “Bond and his wife were both anxious to see Claire locked up. I don’t know why.”
Moore rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You said her brother ran the railroad.”
“Henry Stevens built the railroad. He served as general manager until he quit last year. After an investigator turned up some discrepancies with the books. They discovered that Mr. Stevens’ assistant had skimmed money from ticket sales. George Caldwell got spooked and killed the investigator. Came close to killing Stevens, too. Blamed him for the whole mess. It was quite a scandal. Mr. Stevens left his job. A jury convicted Mr. Caldwell for murder. We hanged him in November—” Frank caught his breath, as the gears in his brain jerked into motion. “Ah, shit. Why didn’t I think of that before?”
“Think of what?”
“The connection. Between Henry’s troubles and what’s happening to Claire. She’s Henry’s sister. If somebody wanted revenge, but couldn’t get to Henry, they might target someone he holds dear.”
Awareness dawned in Moore’s eyes. “Mr. Bond wants revenge?”
Frank secured his hat and moved in a small, tight circle behind the chairs. “Maybe not Bond. Henry would’ve picked up on a direct connection and warned Claire. It could be somebody above the current general manager. Someone with a grudge against Henry. He once told me he’s made a lot of enemies. Might even have something to do with that Caldwell business.”
“What about Mr. Daines?”
“What about him?”
“Would he have been party to whatever Bond was up to?”
“Don’t think so. Based on what Claire told me, his mind wasn’t right. Bond could’ve figured that out and taken advantage of his discontent.” Frank smacked a fist into his palm, imagining Bond’s face in it. “God, I’d love to—”
“I’d advise against that. For the moment. Let’s talk to Mr. Stevens when he arrives. He knows the railroad and the players. He may be able to identify the spider who’s spinning this web.” Moore stood, a bit unsteady, until he grabbed the cane by his desk and regained his balance.
Must’ve lost his leg in the war. Hadn’t lost his mind, though. Not like Claire’s husband, poor bastard. Frederick Daines had been a casualty long before Billy pulled that trigger.
“You keep working on Claire’s defense. I’ll nose around and find out what I can about Mr. Bond’s background.” Frank much preferred taking action to talking a thing to death.
“Sheriff, a moment.” The somber tone in the lawyer’s voice made Frank pause at the door.
“Yeah?”
“As you said, the hearing is tomorrow. It’s doubtful we’ll have all the pieces assembled by then. I expect the judge will lay a charge of murder against my client, unless you can convince him to do otherwise. You should clean up. Get a shave. A haircut wouldn’t hurt. Put on a suit. We don’t want Mr. Bond to be the only witness who makes a good impression.”
Chapter 24
Billy got lucky. A train had stopped because some Indians decided to herd their cattle across the tracks. While the engineer and a conductor argued with two blanket-clad drovers, no one noticed when he climbed up the side of a boxcar.
After the whistle sounded and the train got underway, he settled in on the top. He sat cross-legged, humming, enjoying the wind in his hair, and the spectacular view.
“What the devil are you doin’ up here?”
Billy felt a jerk. He twisted around so fast he nearly lost his balance.
A windblown brakie held a club in one hand and had Billy’s coat fisted in the other. Brakemen used their clubs to turn metal wheels that operated the brakes, not as weapons. Unless there were outlaws about.
Billy offered an uncertain smile. Fortunate for him, he wasn’t an outlaw yet, and he knew this particular brakie. “Hey, Charlie.”
The man’s eyes and weathered forehead crinkled at the same time. He seemed more concerned than angry. “Small Fry? I shoulda known it was you.”
Billy released a relieved sigh. The nickname, which he hadn’t liked before, sounded like music to his ears. His railroad friends had called him that ever since he was knee-high to a toad. It was a term of endearment, rather than ridicule. Much better than Shorty.
“Where you been?” Charlie demanded. “The whole town’s lookin’ for you. We feared you was dead.”
“Nah. I been hidin’ out in the Territory,” Billy explained. He wanted to remain honest, yet offer as little detail as possible so the railroaders wouldn’t think he’d gone bad by hanging out with outlaws. “I’m hitchin’ a ride home.”
Home sounded good. It also made him sad. He’d never had a permanent home. Never really belonged anywhere, and didn’t reckon he ever would. Not unless he could somehow get a job with the railroad. Being on a train was where he felt most at home.
“You ought to be thrashed for scaring everybody. Now c’mon.” Charlie motioned with his chin toward the back of the train. “You can ride in the shack with us.”
The shack, or caboose, was where brakemen stayed when they weren’t coon walking along the top of trains. To be issued an invitation was an honor Billy wouldn’t refuse.
He trotted along behind Charlie, had to take running leaps to clear the distance between the cars. The brakie didn’t even look over his shoulder. Railroaders watched out for each other, but they didn’t coddle greenhorns.
Billy wasn’t no greenhorn.
As the long line of cars rumbled along, the occasional swaying didn’t bother him. Neither did the wind rushing past, which made his coat flap.
He must look like an awkward bird trying to figure out its wings. If a strong crosswind caught him unawares, he’d tumble over the side of the railcar and those wings wouldn’t do him a bit of good. He knew the dangers enough to be careful. He wasn’t near as scared atop this train as he was at the prospect of returning to Parsons.
When he got there, he’d have to talk to the sheriff. How would the lawman react? Billy wasn’t sure. After all those times he’d gotten into trouble for running away or for stealing things, like food.
The sheriff and him had made their peace when he’d moved in with Mrs. Daines. Still, he didn’t think Sheriff Garrity trusted him or even liked him very much. ’Course it was hard to tell if the sheriff liked anybody, except for Mrs. Daines. His voice got softer when he talked to her and his frown weren’t so severe. If she were to put in a good word, maybe.
Billy’s chest got tight. No, he couldn’t ask for her help. Nor could he beg her forgiveness. Not yet. Not until he turned in the outlaws and become a hero. Then, he could face her without so much shame. Tell her how sorry he was for what he’d done. She might not love him anymore, but she was kind and generous. If she thought he’d turned his life around, she might eventually forgive him.
