Harvest Moon

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  “Not anymore. Your last occupant used it for an outhouse.” David wiped his hands down the legs of his trousers. “Do we get a blanket or are you planning to let her freeze?”

  “One blanket per prisoner.”

  “Who’s responsible for that little gem of a rule?” Sarcasm bit the edge of David’s deep voice.

  “City council.”

  David crossed the width of the cell, pulled his coat tighter around her shoulders, and tucked the wool collar securely beneath her chin. He could smell the odors of the Satin Slipper on her. The yeasty smell of beer, the combination of cigar smoke and whiskey, and the tangy, metallic smell of blood. She didn’t move, nor did she speak. She simply continued to look at him.

  His fingers brushed the fabric of her dress. It was slick and cool to the touch. Satin, he realized. Light blue satin cut low in the front and high at the hem, barely covering her knees. A saloon girl’s dress, now splattered with blood. He allowed his gaze to wander. Black net stockings covered her shapely calves and knees and feet. No protection against the harsh Wyoming winter, against the cold seeping through the walls of the wooden jail.

  “How about a cup of coffee?” He raised his voice enough for the deputy to hear.

  “Prisoners get two meals,” came the reply. “Breakfast and supper.”

  “I’m not suggesting a meal,” David told him. “I’m talking about a cup of coffee. It’s cold back here.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Alexander. I’ll pour you a cup soon as you come outta there.”

  “What about her?” David asked.

  “Prisoners get two—”

  “I know.” David muttered an obscenity beneath his breath. Damn bureaucracy. The deputy followed the rules to the letter. David exhaled slowly and pulled out his pocket watch, counting the seconds in an effort to control his mounting frustration. The sun hadn’t even risen. Didn’t these people realize that with a little cooperation they could all go back to bed until it did? He looked at his client. Though her features were delicate, her jaw was set stubbornly. Her deliberate silence puzzled him, yet something about her made him want to help. To take her small hand in his protective grasp. Something he couldn’t quite identify. And then, there was the boy…

  “Are you Tessa O’Roarke?” David asked, using the surname he’d gleaned from the deputy. Her name sounded Irish and so did her brogue.

  Tessa raised her head. “It’s Roarke. Not O’Roarke. Tessa Roarke.”

  Tessa looked him over. Tall, broad-shouldered, and well muscled, he dwarfed the cell. He was handsome; there was no doubt about that. But his type of good looks differed from the rugged handsomeness of her brother. His skin was copper-tinted, smooth-shaven. His eyes were dark, his features more refined. Tessa took a deep breath. The scent of him filled her nostrils, surrounding her senses. Clean.

  Unlike Arnie Mason. So unlike the sour metallic scent surrounding Arnie Mason. Tessa turned her gaze back to his face. He blinked. Arnie hadn’t blinked. His blue eyes had stared sightlessly while the dark blood ran in rivulets from his throat onto her dingy white sheets and her dress. Her blue dress.

  Tessa glanced down. “Sweet Mary!” His blood stained her dress. Shocked anew, she bolted up from her seat. David’s sheepskin jacket slid to the floor.

  He stepped forward.

  “Look at me.” She tugged at the fastening of her costume. “Sweet Mary, look at me.” Her gaze darted from her dress to David’s face. “No, don’t! Turn your back!”

  Standing there, facing her, David refused to obey. He watched as she reached behind her and began to yank at the opening of her gown.

  Tessa Roarke unbuttoned as far as she could reach, then turned and presented her back to him. “Please, help me. I can’t stand to—”

  “Bring a blanket,” David shouted to Deputy Harris.

  “Only one bla—”

  “Forget the damned rules, Harris. Just bring another blanket!” David barked out the words before turning his attention to the small cloth buttons on Tessa’s dress. He moved a couple of steps closer.

  She moved with him, the top of her head bumping his chin. David backed away.

  “The deputy is bringing another blanket.” He raised his voice loud enough for the words to carry back to the deputy. “A clean one. And some warm water.”

  Tessa nodded.

  David stared at the locks of heavy red hair that had escaped her bun and hung down her back. His fingers itched to touch it.

  He forced himself to return to the task at hand.

  David moved aside the thick mass of hair to undo the tiny satin-covered buttons on her gaudy costume. It was a first for David. He’d never undressed a client before. But he’d never represented a woman before, or rushed to a jail to save one. He had her dress half unbuttoned before he realized she wasn’t wearing a corset. The dress was cut too low and too close to her body to accommodate one. He felt the chill of her skin as he opened her dress, smelled the cheap flowery perfume used by the women at the Satin Slipper. But it didn’t smell cheap on Tessa. It was light, floral, intoxicating. David shook his head as if to clear it as Deputy Harris arrived with a fresh blanket. He could feel himself going through the motions, knew he was awake, yet everything still seemed unreal. Like a dream.

  He finished unbuttoning her gown, then handed her the blanket as she slipped it off, along with her stockings. “Comfortable?” David asked.

  “Not very.” She sat huddled on the cot, the blanket wrapped around her. Beneath it her underclothes clung to her skin, but Tessa kept them on. Removing her dress with him there had probably been bad enough; removing her undergarments would surely be unthinkable. She hoped the night wouldn’t hold too many more humiliations. “But I’d rather wear this”— she lifted a corner of the blanket—“than those.” She nodded toward the blue dress and the black net stockings.

  David shoved the discarded clothes through the bars, and Deputy Harris quickly removed them. Minutes later the deputy brought two mugs of steaming hot coffee along with the water without being asked a second time. He even threw a few more scuttles of coal into the stove, but the heat barely penetrated the cold of the hallway and the cell.

  David grinned as he watched Tessa Roarke sipping her coffee. It was remarkable how quickly rules, even city council rules, could be broken, to soothe a distraught woman. He studied her as he sat across from her in a straight-backed wooden chair. She appeared calm.

  David cradled his own cup of coffee in an effort to warm his hands. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Tessa fixed her gaze on him. “I could.”

  “Well?” David waited.

  She answered him with a question of her own. “What about Coalie?”

  “What about him?” David took a sip of coffee.

  “Is he all right? Was he hurt?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Now it’s your turn,” David reminded her. “I answered your question. You’re supposed to answer mine.”

  “Who are you?” she asked. “Why are you here?”

  “That’s two more questions.” David shifted his weight on the uncomfortable chair, then stood up. “My name is David Alexander. I’m an attorney. I’ve come to offer my services.”

  Tessa snorted in disbelief. It was a tiny, elegant snort, but a snort all the same. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “Maybe,” David answered.

  “No, thank you. I’ll keep my own counsel,” Tessa replied, not wanting to admit she didn’t have the money to pay him. She didn’t want to admit the pittance she earned at the Satin Slipper barely covered room and board.

  “That wouldn’t be wise.” David looked at her closely. She obviously didn’t want him as an attorney. And he certainly didn’t need the aggravation. He studied the dark bluish rings under her eyes and the way her teeth bit at her bottom lip. She might not want him, but she needed him. And for some reason he wanted to help. “You’re going to need a good attorney, Miss Roar
ke.”

  “Are you a good attorney?” The musical lilt in her voice was very pronounced.

  “My clients think so.”

  Tessa stood up and took a couple of steps toward him. “What about you, Mr. Alexander? Do you think you’re the best?”

  “Not the best,” David answered. “But good.”

  “Good enough for a saloon girl accused of murder?”

  “Yes,” David told her.

  “At least you’re honest.” She turned on her heel and walked back to the cot, carefully stepping around David’s coat. “I hope you’re right.”

  Deputy Harris spoke from just outside the cell. “I’m gonna have to cut this short, Mr. Alexander.”

  “I’m conferring with my client.”

  “Well, you’re gonna have to come back later,” the deputy said. “I gotta make my morning rounds through town, checkin’ the windows and doors. I can’t leave you in the jail by yourself.”

  David turned to face the lawman. “Afraid she’ll escape?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I ain’t takin’ no chances. I’ve seen her kind before,” Harris commented. “Cold-hearted murderess.” He motioned for David to step forward as he turned the key in the lock and swung the heavy iron door open. “You can come back during business hours. A few hours in a jail cell will probably do her good. Help reform her.”

  Narrowing his dark gaze at the deputy in a scathing look, David stepped through the opening.

  “You’re leavin’ your coat,” Harris pointed out.

  David glanced to where his coat lay on the floor next to her cot. “She can keep it.”

  “But it’s cold out there. The wind is biting.”

  “I don’t have far to go,” David reminded him. “I’ll manage without it for now.”

  Even as he said the words, David planned to return. His jacket gave him an excuse. It was foolish, and he knew it, but despite his experience with duplicitous women, David felt drawn to the jail and the exasperating woman locked inside it. The look she’d given him just wasn’t that of a murderess. He was convinced of it. And he knew what it was like to be misjudged.

  He paused outside the cell, glancing back at Tessa. She remained seated on the cot, the line of her back impossibly rigid. “Will she be all right?”

  “Sure. She’s got the place to herself. For today.”

  David suddenly realized the jail was empty except for Tessa Roarke. “Where is everyone?”

  Harris chuckled. “We let all the drunks go home before breakfast. Saves the citizens the cost of feedin’ ’em. She won’t have to worry about company until the saloons fill up again. Then I don’t know what we’ll do. Can’t put anybody in with her, and we do lots of business on Friday nights.” There were only three cells in the entire jail.

  “I’ll find someplace for her to stay,” David promised.

  “How you gonna manage that? She’s a damn murderess.”

  “She’s an alleged murderess,” David snapped at the deputy. “And I don’t know how I’ll manage, but I’ll find a place for her to stay.”

  The lawman looked skeptical.

  David couldn’t blame him. He found it hard to believe his own words. Nothing made sense. He had plenty of cases to keep him busy. Business cases. Deeds, wills, contracts, and land plats were stacked on his desk awaiting attention. They were all clean, uncomplicated, predictable cases. But this…

  “Mr. Alexander?” Her soft voice reached him as he opened the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you get me out?” She paused. “Coalie needs me.”

  David inhaled deeply. He was crazy to take her on as a client. This whole night had been crazy. David hoped he was still sleeping. If he was lucky, he’d wake up soon and realize this had all been a fascinating dream.

  Chapter Two

  Returning to his office after lunch, still somewhat distracted by his thoughts on the case he was hoping to build, David nearly stumbled over something lodged in the doorway.

  “Ouch!” The grunt of pain came from the dirty bundle curled up on the threshold. A wooden box full of soiled rags, brushes, and boot black sat beside it.

  “What the devil…?” David looked down.

  A face appeared. It belonged to Coalie.

  “What are you doing out here?” David said, bending down to help the child to his feet. Unlocking the door, David ushered Coalie inside the room, just as Greeley, too long confined, scrambled through the open door in a blur of orange stripes. “I’ll have the stove going in a minute. You need something hot to drink.” David turned his attention to the stove. Coalie hovered near the door, wooden box in hand.

  David stoked the embers, then added more coal. “Come on in and get warm. You can tell me what you were doing on my doorstep.” David shrugged off the new coat he’d purchased at the mercantile after leaving the jail.

  “I was waitin’ for ya.” Coalie inched forward, closer to the stove, and set his shoeshine box down. “I seen ya goin’ in and outta the saloons all mornin’.”

  David filled the coffee pot and set it on the stove. A few drops of water trailed down the side and sizzled on the iron surface. “I thought I caught a glimpse of you trailing me.” David pulled his leather desk chair closer to the warmth, then shoved the straight-backed visitor’s chair in Coalie’s direction. “I lost you at the funeral home.”

  “Ya didn’t lose me, exactly. I came back here to wait for ya.” Coalie paused. “Don’t like dead bodies. They give me the willies.”

  David nodded in complete understanding. His first clue. David scratched the boy off his mental list of suspects. Coalie couldn’t have murdered Arnie by himself, and with his fear of the dead, it was unlikely that he’d helped someone else.

  “Can’t say that I blame you,” David agreed. He didn’t care for funeral parlors much himself. He hadn’t liked questioning the undertaker or inspecting the gaping slash across Arnie Mason’s throat.

  “Did ya get Tessa outta the jail yet?” Coalie sat down.

  “Not yet.”

  “Then what’d ya do in the saloon?” Coalie got up and sniffed the air around David’s chair. “Ya don’t smell like old Clayburn. Ya don’t smell drunk.” He said the words warily.

  “I asked questions,” David admitted.

  “Anybody can do that,” Coalie told him. “It’s gettin’ the answers that matters.”

  Greeley meowed loudly outside the door. David got up and let him in. The cat padded around the floor, weaving his way around David’s legs. David bent to pick him up. “You don’t seem to have a high opinion of my abilities,” he commented, petting the ugly orange cat. “Why did you come to my office to get me last night?”

  “Heard it was yer job, gettin’ people outta jail,” the boy replied matter-of-factly. “When I saw who it was on Tessa’s bed, I come runnin’. I figured she’d need help.”

  David eyed Coalie with new awareness. He was wise beyond his years. Too wise. “I think you’re absolutely right.” David set the orange tom on the floor. Greeley brushed against his ankles, then headed back to his favorite spot on the windowsill in the spare bedroom.

  “Then we got us a deal?” Coalie gazed up at him. “Ya gonna help her?”

  “First I want to know what Tessa Roarke is to you. Is she your sister? Is your last name Roarke, too?”

  Coalie thought for a moment. “Nah. My name’s Donegal. Coalie Donegal.”

  “Is Tessa your mother?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “She takes care of me,” he answered vaguely. “Are you gonna help her?”

  “I’ll try.” David nodded in affirmation, then walked back to stand in front of Coalie’s chair.

  Coalie stood to face him. “There’s just one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We ain’t got the money to pay ya.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” David shrugged.

  ‘Tessa and me don’t take charity.” Coalie straightened to his full height. “But I’ll work for ya. To pay for T
essa.”

  David thought for a moment. The little boy looked at him so proudly, David had to take him seriously. “I could use a helping hand to run errands, do a few chores, keep an eye on the place…that sort of thing.”

  Coalie looked around the office, taking in the stacks of books and papers scattered across the desk and table.

  “I’ll give you a key to the back door and a bed of your own,” David said, “but there will be rules to follow. I expect you to go to school like the other children in town. And you’ll do your chores in the mornings and after school.” David had learned that Coalie lived with Tessa Roarke, and with Tessa in jail, Coalie had no place to stay.

  David stretched his tired muscles and ran his long, lean fingers through the silky strands of his ink-black hair. He was a fool—and probably would be served right when Coalie and Tessa skipped out in the middle of the night. But he was willing to take a chance. And in the meantime Coalie was a vital link to Tessa Roarke. Maybe his only link.

  David stuck out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  Coalie stared at the large outstretched hand, then at the face of the man offering it. “What about my shoeshine business?”

  “You can continue in your free time if you want to,” David told him, “but only after your schoolwork and chores are done. And only if you agree to stay away from the saloons.”

  Coalie nodded, having apparently decided to trust him. He placed his hand in David’s. “You sure do have a lot of rules, but it’s a deal.”

  David studied the small hand. It was caked with dirt, red from cold, and roughened from hard work. Black half-moons marked the fingernails. If he had his way, no child would have to work for a living. But David recognized pride when he saw it. He took the boy’s hand and gripped it firmly. “I’m pleased to meet you, Coalie.”

  Coalie shook his hand in reply.

  “Come on,” David prompted. “I’ll show you your new room.”

  By David’s standards the room was tiny. It was smaller than his sleeping quarters at the office and much smaller than his room in the bachelors’ wing at the ranch. The room was barely large enough to hold a narrow bed, a dresser, and a washstand, but Coalie’s big green eyes lit up in wonder at the size of the room and the furnishings. He walked around, reverently touching the down coverlet and the quilt folded at the foot of the bed. Walking over to the window looking out on the back alley, he fingered the checked fabric of the curtains.