by Judith Pella
Micah shrugged as if he didn’t care, then said with the most sincerity in his tone that he’d yet used, “Well, tell Issy I miss her, too. And the other kids. And Elise.” He thought briefly of his father’s second wife. She’d been kind to him, and he hoped she didn’t one day suffer the same fate as Rebekah Sinclair had.
“I’ll do that, Micah.” Benjamin put his face close to the barred opening in the door. “Guard, I’m ready.”
His voice held a hesitancy, as if he truly was not ready, as if he had more to say. But he remained silent as he waited. Micah did the same.
It seemed to take forever for the guard to come. Micah did not realize he was holding his breath until the door creaked open, and he expelled a sharp burst of air.
“Good-bye, Micah,” Benjamin said in a tone that seemed rough and brittle, then he paused a moment before stepping outside.
If he had been waiting for parting words from his son, Micah disappointed him, remaining silent. The door then clanked shut, and Micah was left alone.
The next visit came just before sunset. Micah thought it would be Tom with one last plea. And Micah wondered what his response would be, desperately wanting a way out but believing that would not be possible.
When the door opened, it wasn’t Fife who stepped inside, but a dream. At least he wondered if he was dreaming while still wide awake. He’d had this dream several times since the Comanche attack, and it had been a welcome respite from his Goliad and San Jacinto nightmares. He’d dreamed of a beautiful, genteel girl with a smile that could melt stone or turn a dry riverbed into a rushing stream of water, dancing and sparkling in the desert sun. He’d dreamed that smile was meant for him, only him. And he’d wake with a gnawing ache, knowing he would only see such a smile in the netherworld of sleep.
That’s why Micah rubbed his eyes and stared, half expecting the vision to suddenly dissolve. But she was still standing there, all feminine in cornflower blue, her dark hair escaping the confines of her lace bonnet and falling around her lovely face.
The spell was broken by Tom Fife’s discordant voice. “Got a visitor for you, Micah.” Then he added, “I’ll be right outside here, miss.”
Before Micah could say a thing or give his leave, the door shut. This time, however, Tom did not lock it.
She smiled that smile, and Micah realized he remembered it perfectly from their last meeting.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming unannounced,” she said.
Mind? Micah could have been ready to die that minute just with the sight of her, feeling his life had been complete.
“Naw, I don’t mind,” he said casually. “It gets kind of boring in here.” Then remembering his manners, he jumped up. All at once he became acutely aware of himself and his surroundings.
He was still wearing the same dirty clothes he’d been wearing the day of the Comanche attack. And, of course, he hadn’t had a bath in all that time either. Nothing unusual about that. Not enough water on the trail earlier, and now no one cared to waste the effort if he was just gonna die in a day. He smelled like rotten onions, and his week’s growth of beard made his face look like he’d been kissing dirt. He didn’t have much of a beard, but what he had was darker and ruddier than his hair. Instinctively his hand shot up to his chin, then he grimaced, and instead of welcoming this visit, he decided that before he died tomorrow, he would kill Tom Fife.
“I don’t have a chair to offer you,” he said, as if this admission could account for everything else.
“I don’t mind standing.”
The corners of her lips twitched, and he realized she was just as nervous as he. She held her hands in front of her, twisting them together.
“Didn’t figure I’d ever see you again,” Micah said.
“I heard you’d been arrested, and I felt so bad, I just couldn’t stay away.”
Her dark eyes were like lumps of obsidian, only fluid and expressive. They glittered now with what Micah dared to hope was sadness.
“I don’t hold nothing against you,” Micah replied with just a hint of magnanimity in his tone. He thought about holding her that day when she had fainted and decided the experience was well worth arrest, maybe even hanging. “You had to tell the law what I done.”
“Please don’t think that!” The obsidian now flashed with passion. “I would never have turned you in after what you did for me. I prayed they would never find you. But it was Pete’s best horse you took, and, well, he was pretty upset.”
“I’m sorry I did that, and not just because of . . . well, what’s gonna happen tomorrow.” Micah shifted nervously on his feet. In truth, he wasn’t entirely sorry, but he couldn’t have her know that. “I didn’t know you was Texans, and . . . I wouldn’t have done it if it had been his only horse.” That, at least, was true. “Anyway, I am sorry.”
“I came to town to tell the constable about what you did for me, how you might have escaped free and clear with no one able to identify you if you hadn’t come back to see to me—”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he broke in, horrified on several different levels, most of which he could barely define. But for certain he hated the thought that she had come merely out of pity.
“You rescued me at your own peril,” she insisted.
“I also took you hostage—”
“Pooh!” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “You never would have harmed me.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
Completely abashed, Micah said rather helplessly, “Well, at any rate, you shouldn’t have come here, because you’d likely ruin your reputation if folks believed you had any truck with a man like me.”
“I don’t care what people think. I owe you my life, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Still . . . it ain’t right.”
She then bestowed upon him such a look—part smile, part admiration, part impish rebellion—that it made him suck in a breath of shock.
“My father would have a conniption if he knew I was here.” A curl fell in her eyes, and that impish look had full reign for a moment before she lifted a hand and flicked the silken wave back into place.
She was the most beautiful thing Micah had ever seen.
She continued. “But I learned something about you the day you saved me, Mr. Sinclair, that no one else knows.”
“Y-you did?” He silently cursed the flustered squeak in his voice.
“You are a decent man, Mr. Sinclair. I know that and . . . and I can’t bear the thought of . . .” Her own voice broke with emotion. “Goodness!
I didn’t think I’d . . .” She fumbled with the reticule that hung from her twisting hands and withdrew a handkerchief.
“Miss! You . . .” But as much as Micah knew he should say something, he was speechless. This beautiful girl, this vision of sweet dreams, was weeping . . . for him! He didn’t even think how this would be the ideal opportunity to hold her once again, just to comfort her, of course.
Instead, he just stood there, gaping woodenly.
She dabbed her eyes daintily. “I’m so sorry for carrying on this way.”
“You oughtn’t cry, not over me,” he finally said.
“But . . . but . . .” her tears kept flowing.
“Tom! Tom!” Micah yelled, not knowing what else to do.
The door flew open, and Tom leaped into the cell like an avenging knight. “What’s going on?”
“It ain’t my fault!” Micah declared preemptively.
“No, Mr. Fife, it isn’t Mr. Sinclair’s fault.” She sniffed and her words trembled. “I just don’t want to see him . . . I can’t even say it! And I am to blame!”
“No you ain’t, miss.”
Tom reached out and did what Micah had been hungering to do. He put an arm around the weeping girl. But at the same time Tom made this gentle gesture, he turned blazing eyes on Micah.
“What’d you say to her, boy!” he accused more than asked.
“N-nothing!”h But Micah knew in
his heart he was totally the cause of her distress. Yet he was helpless to do a thing about it.
“He was a perfect gentleman,” she said through her tears.
How could she defend him? He’d stolen from her, held her hostage, and put her through emotional distress.
“I’m taking you out now, miss,” Tom said. “Your pa would kill me if he knew I’d let you in here. And now look at you!” He nudged her toward the door. Pausing only for a backward glance at Micah, he added threateningly, “I’ll be back to talk to you later.”
CHAPTER
9
TOM DID NOT RETURN FOR two hours, during which time Micah fretted as if worse could happen to him than already was going to happen tomorrow.
That girl should never have come to his cell. It had been pure foolishness! And Micah would chew Tom out good for allowing it to happen. What had the man been thinking, letting a decent girl into a depraved man’s jail cell to see a condemned criminal? Even Micah would have known that a girl’s delicate sensibilities could have been upset by such a thing.
Then he thought about those tears, erupting from obsidian, coursing down pure ivory, and all for him. It should have disturbed him to have a gal like that pity him so, yet as he mulled over the visit in his mind, Micah began to sense that there had not been anything like pity in her response. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part, but it might be true that her sorrow sprang from something else entirely.
What that might be, he dared not think about. It was no use anyway. He was going to die tomorrow.
But if there was a way to avoid the inevitable, well, he might just take it. He could stand being a ranger if it meant pleasing a gal like Miss Maccallum. If it meant he could dispel those tears and the distress in those lovely eyes.
“Hey, Micah!” Jed called.
With a jolt Micah remembered why he would never see those eyes smile again.
“What!” Micah snapped. But it really wasn’t Jed’s fault. Micah had gotten Jed into this mess, and he was going to stick by him till the end. That was that. A bit more gently he added, “Haven’t heard much from you today, Jed. What’s going on?”
“You sure have had a slug of visitors. I saw a pretty female in the hall.”
“Yeah. Of all things, Jed, it was the gal from the trail drive.”
“The one whose horses we stole?”
“The same. She was crying because of me.”
“You don’t say!” Jed gave a low whistle. “She sure was pretty.”
Micah shrugged, then swung his legs off his cot and stood. Striding to the door, he added, “When do you suppose supper is gonna come? I’m starved.” He didn’t want to talk about Miss Maccallum. He didn’t want to be reminded about all he was losing.
The outer door opened, and Tom stepped into the corridor. Micah took it as a good sign that the man seemed to have calmed since his earlier visit.
“Hey, Tom, when’s supper?”
“Yeah,” Jed put in. “I’m gonna get ham and fried chicken, right?”
“I got more important things to discuss than your stomachs.” Tom came to Micah’s cell, opened it, and stepped inside.
Micah immediately noted the door was kept unlocked and slightly ajar. But no doubt the outer office was filled with rangers armed to the teeth. Micah knew escape was impossible, but he could not prevent himself from thinking about it.
Snapping the door shut behind him, Tom ordered, “You! Sit down and listen to me!”
He took a step toward Micah, who retreated until he was at the edge of the cot and forced to sit anyway.
“Tom, you’re not still mad at me, are you?” Micah hated having to look up at the ranger, again feeling like a naughty kid.
“That girl was still crying when she left here,” Tom went on in a tone so even it was frightening.
“I swear I didn’t do nothing to her!”
“Shut up and listen to me! You’re gonna take my proposition.” When Micah opened his mouth to protest, Tom added firmly, “No ifs, ands, or buts about it! I ain’t gonna watch that girl’s heart break over a low-down, no-account, sidewinder like you. You’re gonna become a ranger. No arguments.”
“I can’t do it,” Micah said, his own conviction floundering as he thought of the miserable girl and his own demise. “You know why . . . and I just can’t.”
“Aw, shoot!” Tom practically shouted. “You’re both gonna have to become rangers, then.”
“Both?” Micah was certain he had not heard right. “You mean Jed, too?”
“Yeah, him too. I’ll live to regret this, I’m sure. You’ll both likely drive me to an early grave—”
But Micah had jumped to his feet and, nearly knocking Tom over, was at the door. “Jed, you hear that? We ain’t gonna hang!”
“What?” Jed said, several steps behind everyone else as usual.
“I’m telling you we ain’t gonna die. Tom’s made us a deal. All we have to do is become rangers.”
“Huh?”
Remembering the door was unlocked, Micah flung it open and strode down the corridor to Jed’s cell. “I’m telling you, do you want to be a ranger?”
“A ranger?”
“It won’t be much different from what we’ve been doing ’cept we’ll get paid for it, and”—he added this last part quickly as Tom approached—“of course we can’t steal no more.”
“And we don’t have to hang tomorrow?” Jed asked, still bemused.
“Nope,” Tom answered. “But don’t think you’re gonna get off easy. I’m gonna make you work your tails off. You’re both gonna be the best durned rangers in this here republic, or I’ll want to know the reason why. I ain’t risking my own neck just to have a couple of poor malcontents hanging around my neck. Got it?”
“You don’t have to worry about us,” Micah said. “We won’t let you down.” And oddly enough, he meant it. He suddenly glanced at Tom and felt a peculiar tightening in his chest. He wanted to tell him thanks but couldn’t get the words out.
“Does this mean I don’t get no pecan pie?” Jed asked.
Fife rolled his eyes. “Saints preserve me! What have I gone and done!”
“Angry? That does not begin to describe what I’m feeling right now.”
“But, Papa, I had to do what I felt was right.” Lucie hated to have her father upset at her. She looked at him now, his face more florid than usual, and searched in her mind for something to say that would ease him. “Papa, you taught me yourself to follow my heart—”
“I did not teach you to consort with criminals, nor to defy me!” Reid gasped a breath and sat down at the table in the kitchen.
It had been a silent ride in the back of the carriage as one of the hands drove them home from San Antonio. Lucie knew her father was fuming and feared anything she might say would set off fireworks. She was still upset as well, her eyes red and puffy, and she continued to be on the verge of tears. Deciding it was best to let matters cool a bit, she had gone to the kitchen to fix some tea. She’d offered her father a cup, but declining, he had retreated to his office.
That had been two hours ago. Finally her father had come from his study, finding Lucie still in the kitchen moping over her now cold tea. She had asked him if he was still angry and learned that, though he had calmed, he indeed continued to be irritated.
“Would you like some tea? The kettle is warm.” She started to rise, but he laid a restraining hand on hers.
“Forget the tea, Lucie. We need to talk this out.”
“Yes, Papa, I know.”
“Tell me, whatever got into your head to go into that jail?”
She sighed. “It was the right thing to do—at least speaking in the man’s defense was. As far as going to see him . . . I don’t know. Maybe it was not wise.” She bit her lip as sudden emotion threatened her again. “Oh, Papa! He is a nice boy, I just know it! And I didn’t help him after all. Tomorrow . . . tomorrow . . .” A hiccough escaped her lips.
“Now, now, Lucie, baby . . . you
mustn’t fret so.”
As if she had intended it, her tears were softening her father. She found the effect of a woman’s tears on a man to be astounding, and though she dared not use such power brazenly, it was rather comforting to know she did have some small recourse as a woman. However, it hadn’t helped in the case of Micah Sinclair. Her tears had not softened the heart of that ranger captain. They would not save the young horse thief.
“Papa, it just isn’t right that a man with so much life to live, so much promise, should have it all end in such a way. He is not a hardened criminal, I am certain. Surely something awful must have happened to him that set him on the wrong path. He was very kind to me. And I felt I had to let him know someone cared.” She sniffed and her father handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Can you imagine having to die all alone? And, Papa, he turned down a chance to avoid his sentence. They were going to let him become a ranger—”
“I know. That is the most outlandish thing I ever heard. And I told the captain so,” Reid said.
“One of the rangers cared enough to take him in hand . . .”
“There you go! He did have someone else who cared for him.” A satisfied looked spread across Reid’s face.
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Lucie said with just a hint of disrespectful ire. “Micah refused the offer because he would not let his friend hang alone.”
“Sounds like pure foolishness to me.”
“Oh, Papa, you can’t fool me. You know as well as I that it was an act of grand courage and honor.”
Reid looked down at the table, fumbling nervously with the handle of the teapot. Finally he looked up at his daughter, a smile teasing the corners of his lips. “Well, maybe it was at that.”
“I think you would like him, Papa. I think you would like him a lot.” For a brief moment Lucie nearly forgot her father would never meet the young man, thinking instead she might actually see that handsomely boyish face again. Then reality struck her, and a sob broke through her lips. “Papa, even prayer did not help him.”