Texas Lawman
Autore
Carolyn Davidson
Letto da
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Capitoli
18
Chapter One
Benning, Texas April 10, 1901
He drew his gun and lifted it before him, sighting down the barrel to where his prey stood beneath a tree, in a gladed area on the northern side of town. Revealed in the moonlight by a stray break in the clouds overhead, the figure was unmoving, a pale shirt and dark trousers fitting the slender form like a glove.
The flow of dark hair gave away her gender. That, and the narrow waist that was belted snugly, emphasizing the rounded hips that filled a pair of trousers almost to bursting.
“I can see your badge. Go ahead and shoot, Sheriff,” she said quietly, the sound carrying to where he stood. “Shall I step forward and give you a better target?”
Brace Caulfield lowered his gun. “Damn.” The single word was uttered in disgust—the vehemence aimed at himself as he stuffed his weapon into the holster that was tied to his thigh. “Walk over here, lady,” he said harshly. “You pret’ near got yourself shot just now.”
The woman obeyed slowly. Perhaps, he decided, to prove to him that it was her choice alone that prompted her movements. Stepping carefully over the hillocks in the clearing, glancing down at where she walked, she approached him and then halted, not quite within his reach.
“Who are you?” His voice was strong, the tones strident, for the mere seconds during which he’d sighted her down the length of his gun barrel had shaken his composure. Never had his weapon been aimed at a woman, and his anger rose against the female who had caused him to do so.
“You don’t need to know,” she said quietly. “I won’t be here any longer than it takes to round up my horse and climb on.”
“What were you doing in town scouting out the back door of the hotel?” he asked.
He’d seen her there first—just a glimpse of a man, he’d thought—wearing a light-colored shirt. Now he recognized that the pale fabric held the lush curves of a woman’s bosom. A woman full grown. Not the youthful creature he’d thought her to be when he’d taken her measure for the second time, just moments since.
“Nothing illegal,” she answered. “I was looking for someone.”
“Most folks use the front door,” he said bluntly. “You have a problem with that?”
“The man I was watching for didn’t want to be seen. I knew if he left the hotel it would be from the rear entrance.”
He propped his hand against his hip, just above the gun that weighed heavily against his leg. His eyes narrowed as he listened to her explanation, and his tone was rasping as he spoke. “You were looking for a man.”
It was a statement of fact and she merely shrugged, not prone, it seemed, to offer any more information than she already had.
“Who?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the sound somehow more threatening.
“I’m not sure you need to know that,” she said. “If you’re going to shoot me, go ahead. Otherwise, you have no reason to stop me from mounting my horse and leaving town.”
“You left your animal behind when you ran off,” he pointed out, one long finger tipping his hat back a bit. And then that finger pointed to his right, where lights glowed from a string of establishments along the street that centered town. “He’s tied to a hitching rail in front of the general store.”
She bit at her lip, looking in the direction he pointed. “Who did that?”
“My deputy. I figured you’d be back to get the mare, and Jamie’s keeping an eye out, waiting for you to show up.”
She turned abruptly and stalked away. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would I?”
He kept pace with her, allowing her to stride in front of him, wondering why he hadn’t recognized immediately that the slender form he’d followed between buildings and behind the newspaper office, almost to the woods, was not a man at all. He was certainly having no problem now sorting out the difference between her womanly form and that of a male.
She walked down the sidewalk beside the dark stores, past the saloon where music and loud voices carried over and under the swinging doors to clash in a raucous symphony of sound. The general store was dark, the proprietor gone for the night, and in front of his establishment stood a mare, saddled and ready to ride.
“Did you find the man?” Brace asked the woman as she stepped down to release her mare from the hitching rail.
She turned to face him, reins in her hand. “No. If I had, you’d have heard a gunshot, Sheriff. I’d have killed him.” With a quick move she was in the saddle, and Brace took a long stride toward her, reaching for her reins.
“Whoa, lady. You can’t make a statement like that and then just ride away.”
“You can’t arrest me, sir,” she told him, unmoving, as if she would not put her mare’s mouth in jeopardy by fighting for the reins he held. “I didn’t break any laws.”
“Intent is reason enough for me to take you in for questioning.”
She tossed her head, and the moonlight shimmered from dark hair, turning her skin to palest ivory, even as her eyes glittered with the reflection of starlight. “Hard up for a woman?” she asked softly.
“Now that you mention it,” he returned quietly, “I am…a little.”
“There’s no little about it,” she countered. “Either you’re on the prowl for a handy female, or you’re not.” Her chin rose, and a challenge he’d not thought to hear spewed from her lips. “If you touch me, I swear I’ll kill you, Mr. Lawman. You can toss me in your jail cell if you like, but you’d better have a damn good reason for doing it.”
Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she faced him down, and he felt unbidden admiration for the courage she displayed. She was either a very brave woman or totally without good sense, defying a lawman with the ability to put her in a cell and throw away the key. Not that he was likely to do such a thing, but the temptation was there.
For if he placed her in custody, he’d have a chance to find out something about her—he’d have a day or so, perhaps, to dig deep into her reasons for being in Benning, Texas.
“I can’t allow a woman to go riding off alone in the dark without someone to look after her,” he said bluntly. “Unless you’re willing to tell me who you are and what’s going on here, I can’t let you leave. Your gentleman friend may very well be watching us even now, just waiting for a chance to snatch you up.”
She laughed, a bitter sound, and shook her head. “He won’t be coming near me. He doesn’t know I’m here. I’ve been following him for the past two weeks, and when I saw him ride into Benning this morning I followed. He left his horse at the livery stable and went into the hotel before noon. I’ve been watching ever since.”
“I didn’t see you,” Brace said. “And I pretty much know everything that goes on in this town.”
“If I don’t want to be seen, I can always find a hole to crawl into,” she told him. “I’m not afraid to be on my own, and I don’t want to take a chance on Les—” She inhaled sharply.
“Is that his name?” Brace asked. “Les?” He frowned consideringly. “Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell with me. A stranger in town, you say?”
She glared at him, obviously angry with herself for giving away even that small bit of information. Her lips thinned, as if she would deny another word passage between them, and he shrugged as if he were baffled by her silence.
He reached up, gripping her elbow, catching her off balance. She jerked back, but to no avail. Brace Caulfield was a tall man, strong and well muscled, and a woman, no matter how tough she pretended to be, stood little chance of escaping his hold.
“You want to get down off that mare by yourself,” he asked, “or shall I help you?”
“Damn you,” she snarled. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Maybe not,” he said agreeably. “But I have a feeling that you’ll be safer with me than riding out of town at this time of night.” His grip on her arm tightened a bit and she shot him a look of pure venom, her face illuminated by the full moon that played hide-and-seek with drifting clouds overhead.
With ease she slid from her saddle and stood before him. “Now are you satisfied?” she asked.
“Not by a long shot, lady,” he murmured, and then watched as his deputy joined them in the middle of the street.
“I figured when I saw you trailin’ her you didn’t need me standin’ guard over that mare,” Jamie said, his attention fully on the female who stood between the two men.
“Well, you can come in handy right now,” Brace told him, handing him the reins and nodding toward the livery stable just down the street from the jailhouse.
The deputy led the mare away, and the woman watched as her horse disappeared inside the open door of the livery. “Come on inside,” Brace told her, then watched as the woman reluctantly crossed the threshold into the small office.
“Sit down,” he said, leading her to a chair and applying a bit of pressure to insure she obeyed his order. He reached to the lantern that hung over his desk and, scratching a match against his rear pocket, he lit the lamp, his eyes narrowing against the glare. Then, leaning against the edge of the desk, he removed his hat, placing it behind him in an automatic gesture. “Now talk,” he told her. “Your name first, if you please.”
She set her jaw stubbornly, and her glare was filled with defiance. “Sarah Murphy,” she said flatly. “Now can I leave?”
“Why are you on this fella’s trail, Miss Murphy?” Brace asked quietly, ignoring her query. She was mute, her lips tightly pressed together, and he watched her patiently, knowing that he could outlast any woman in the world when it came to remaining silent.
Her shoulders slumped a bit, but with a visible effort she lifted her head, meeting his gaze head-on. “He’s a monster, of the very worst kind.”
“What did he do?” Brace asked, careful not to raise his voice. Gentle probing might work best with a wary woman, he thought.
Sarah’s face became a mask of despair as he watched, and the words she spoke seemed to come from some bitter well within her. “He was married to my sister. They had a child, a boy. And then Sierra died and her beloved husband took off with the child.”
“What happened to your sister?”
His worst fears were confirmed as Sarah Murphy lifted a bleak gaze in his direction, and her words verified his thoughts.
“She was strangled, just over two months ago. By a stranger, according to Les. Someone who broke in to the house and attacked Sierra.”
“And you don’t believe that?” Brace asked quietly, prepared for the shake of her head, the scornful line of her lips as she denied his query.
“He’d threatened her before. When Les drinks he’s a demon, mean and hateful. Even sober, he’s got a cruel streak a mile wide.”
“Why didn’t the law stop him?” It seemed like a logical question to Brace, knowing how his own office would react to a woman’s death.
“A woman like my sister doesn’t get a lot of consideration in a town like Big Rapids, Missouri,” Sarah said. “I’d think you’d know that in many places women are at the bottom of the list, and the town we lived in isn’t much different. She was just an ordinary female who made some wrong choices in life.” Her mouth twisted in distaste. “The first of which was marrying Lester Clark.”
“So you followed him to Benning, Texas.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded unbelieving. “Why on earth would he leave Missouri and come to a place like Benning, Texas?”
“I think his people are from the west side of the state. Other than that, I have no idea. I just followed him.” She looked down for a moment, and Brace wondered if she was fighting tears. Her shoulders hunched a bit, then straightened with obvious effort, and she lifted her chin and met his eyes with a gaze that glittered. “Les has my nephew. I want Stephen back.”
Brace considered that idea, recognizing her impassioned plea as that of a woman allowing her emotions to take the reins. “If this man has the child with him, I’d say he has a perfect right to him. Being his father gives him that, legally.”
“Even if that man killed my sister?” Her voice was choked with tears as she spoke the question, and he hesitated to reply, knowing she would resent his answer.
“You have no proof of that, do you?” Before she could respond, he held up a hand and continued. “If the law thought there was any chance of such a thing, they’d have been on his trail faster’n you could—well, pretty damn quick,” he said, altering his reply for female company.
“Men always believe other men.” She spit the words at him and he heard the unspoken message. She’d been shunted aside, given short shrift by the lawmen in question. And perhaps with good reason. Then again, she seemed like an intelligent female. Maybe there was more to this than was visible on the surface.
“And you have no idea why he came here?” Brace asked.
She shook her head, and once more her hair shifted with the movement, seeming almost alive, with waves falling upon her shoulders and back. Enough to distract a man, Brace decided, unable to conceal the admiring glance he turned upon her. She was young, not looking to be more than twenty—too young for a man like him to be considering.
Her eyes were in shadow and he bent toward her, lifting her chin a bit, the better to see the blue depths. With a sharp movement she twisted her head, effectively removing his hand from her skin. He allowed it without an argument. He’d seen the moment of panic she’d attempted to hide, noted the automatic withdrawal from his touch.
Straightening slowly, he watched her, willing her to shift in the chair, waiting for the long moments of silence to have an effect. And waited in vain.
Sarah Murphy would no doubt make a good hunter, possessing the ability to remain still and in one position for however long it might take for a deer to leave its hiding place and meander across her path. Brace could almost envision such a scene, and then he smiled at his fanciful thoughts.
“You think this is humorous?” she asked. “You’re enjoying keeping me here?” Her chin tilted again, this time at her own volition, and her gaze touched his with a stony glare. “If Les is leaving town while you stand there leaning on your desk, it won’t make much of a difference. I’ll still find him, no matter where he goes.”
Brace shook his head. “Not tonight, you won’t.” He reached behind him, opened the desk drawer and removed a ring of keys. They jangled at his touch, and he palmed them, then stood erect. “You need to use the necessary before I put you in a cell?” he asked politely. “There’s one out back.”
He watched the blush climb her cheeks, painting her throat and then suffusing her face with color. “You’re determined not to leave me any self-respect, aren’t you?” Her jaw clenched, and again her hair caught the light as she tossed her head defiantly.
“I’d think you’d rather use the outdoor facility than the slop pail in your cell,” he said reasonably. “Up to you.”
“What’s the charge against me?” she asked, obviously reluctant to accompany him to a cell.
“Vagrancy, for now,” he told her. “I’ll decide in the morning if I need to jail you for threatening to murder a man. All depends on how the night goes.”
“How the night goes? What is that supposed to mean?” Her face lost its rosy hue quickly as she responded to his statement. Then she rose with care, as if her legs required a bit of coaxing in order to hold her upright. “Lead the way, Sheriff,” she said.
“First, let’s see if you’re wearing a weapon,” he said mildly. “If you were planning on shooting a man, chances are you have access to a gun.” He cast a measuring glance at her and couldn’t resist a smile. “Can’t see where you’re hidin’ it, though. Those pants fit you like a glove.”
“Are you going to search me?” she asked. “Shall I empty my pockets?”
“Are you armed?” he returned, taking one long step, looking down at her from closer range.
She shook her head. “No. I have a gun in my saddlebag.” And then she shrugged. “Unless you count the knife in my pocket, I’m not much of a threat to you.”
“Let’s have the knife,” he said, holding out his hand.
She slid slender fingers into her side pocket and withdrew a small penknife, placing it onto his palm with a slap. “There you are. Did you feel threatened?”
“Any weapon is dangerous if its user is intent on causing bodily harm,” he answered quietly. “This little knife could do a lot of damage.”
“Well, all it’s been used for up until now is cutting branches to use for bedding and for a spit over my fire.”
Brace slid it into his pocket. “For tonight, it’ll be safe with me,” he told her. “Now, have you decided about the trip out back?”
“I suppose you’re coming along.” Her words were a statement of fact, he decided, and he answered in like form.
“You’d better believe it, ma’am.”
He lifted a hand toward the back door of the jail, and she led the way past two empty cells and then opened the door to the outside. The darkness was almost solid before them, the moon hidden behind a cloud, the stars barely seen. The faint outline of a small building gave notice of her destination, and Sarah walked toward it.
“Do I get to go in alone?” she asked, her hand on the latch.
“Now, Miss Sarah, you should know better than to ask that. I’m not a man given to looking where I’ve not been invited. I’ll just wait right here.”
She pulled the door closed behind her and he grinned into the darkness. Damn, she was a handful. He’d give much to keep her around for a while, but overnight was probably as far as he could go without causing an uproar, should the ladies in town hear of it. Turning his back on the outhouse, he folded his arms across his chest and waited.
Standing with her hand on the latch wasn’t getting her anywhere, Sarah decided. The knowledge that the lawman waited outside, just six feet away, was daunting, the presence of a jail cell with her name on it even more so. She’d never been in jail. Indeed, had never had a run-in with the law in any way, shape or form. Unless she counted the sheriff who’d checked out Sierra’s death and uttered bland words of sympathy.
The door opened silently, but the sheriff turned to face her without hesitation. His face was a blurred shadow in the night, the shine of the silver star on his shirt allowing her to spot his form before her. Walking beside him, she headed for the jailhouse and reached for the door. The light from the lawman’s office cast a gleam before her and she stepped inside the hallway and waited for him.
“I’ll get you a bucket of water and a towel,” he offered, gripping her elbow and crossing to the first cell. Using the largest key on his ring, he opened the door and swung it wide, ushering her inside.
Without protest she obeyed his unspoken order and stepped into the small cubicle. Just large enough for a simple cot, a chair and the aforementioned slop pail in one corner, it was barren of any comforts, and she scanned the bed she would use for the night.
“I’ll get a blanket and see if I can scout up a pillow for you,” the sheriff said.
“Don’t you have many prisoners, Sheriff?” she asked. “I’d think these lovely rooms would come complete with furnishings.”
“Nope. Benning is a pretty quiet town. Not much doing usually.”
“No wonder you were so thrilled with finding a lawbreaker like me on the premises,” she said caustically. The cot beckoned, and she made a deliberate effort to appear nonchalant as she walked across the cell and sat down.
He stood in the open door of her accommodations and slid one hand into his pocket. “I’ll be right back with all the comforts of home,” he told her, then closed the metal portal with a clang and walked toward his office.
Sarah watched him go, finally allowing her trembling hands permission to entwine in her lap. Her breath was rasping in her lungs, and she felt a deluge of tears threatening. Not for the world would she succumb to their flow until the dratted lawman was far, far away, she decided. No doubt he’d settle her for the night and then go on home, where he probably had a nice comfortable bed.
And then in less than five minutes she discovered how wrong she was.
“My name’s Brace Caulfield,” the lawman told her as he approached with one arm full of blanket and pillow, a white towel balanced atop the pile. His other hand held a bucket of water, and he deposited it on the floor while he unlocked the cell.
Ungraciously she sat on the bunk while he carried his bundle inside and placed the bedding on the chair, then lowered the bucket to the floor at the foot of her cot. Only her good upbringing forced her to utter a grudging thanks for his efforts, and she was answered with a brief nod.
From his back pocket he withdrew a candle and several matches and in less than a minute had lit the taper, then allowed the wax to drip onto the floor. The candle was set in place, and its glow illuminated the cell around her, providing comfort she hadn’t expected. She hoped it would last at least until she went to sleep, although that might be a long time from now.
“I’ll be in my office all night,” he told her. “If you need anything, just call out.”
“You’re not going home?” she asked disbelievingly. Surely the man had a home to call his own.
“Not with a female in my jail,” he told her forcefully. “There’s not much chance of danger to you, but I don’t think it’s wise to ask for trouble. That saloon down the street is full of fellas who’d give their eyeteeth for a chance to touch your pretty face.”
“I doubt they know I’m here,” she protested, unwilling to face the thought of him in the next room.
“Well, we’re not gonna give them a chance to come looking, are we?” Locking the door with a quick twist of the key, he stuffed the ring into his pocket and watched her for a moment through the bars. “You’re safe, Miss Murphy. If you’re thinking I’m gonna come in here and bother you, don’t give it another thought. My mama raised me to be a gentleman.”
And somehow Sarah knew he spoke the truth. In the light of her candle, his eyes were dark and shadowed, yet compelling, as if he looked into her very depths and knew the fears she held within her.
The candle indeed lasted, longer than she’d expected, and her gaze focused on it for long minutes as she coaxed her body to relax on the hard cot. It still burned as her eyes finally shut.
She awoke in the dark, aware of another presence nearby, and sat up with a start.
“It’s all right, Sarah. It’s me, Sheriff Caulfield.” The voice came from outside her cell, and as she focused on its source she was able to see the tall, shadowed figure of the man who spoke.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep.
“No. Just making sure you’re all right. Do you want another candle?”
It would not be wise to give in to her natural inclination, she decided, and refused his offer. Inviting the man into her cell was the last thing she wanted to do in the middle of the night, given her trembling hands and fearful thoughts. He was too inviting, his calm, sure voice offering security and safekeeping. And she needed every bit of independence she could muster for the days ahead.
“No, I’m fine,” she told him, with a fine disregard for the truth, then placed her head back on the thin pillow and closed her eyes, choosing to live with the lie she’d spoken.
