"I'm gonna send one of the hands for your pa in the mornin'."
"Good," she replied. Hopefully, her father would have some insight into this situation. Maybe he wouldn't shake his head and say, "I wondered if you knew what you were doin' when you married him." Maybe the new day would bring some sense to this whole mess.
Maybe she'd wake up and it would all have been a dream—a terrible, sickening dream.
* * *
Booker stared into the blackness overhead. The wick on the lantern outside the door had burned out hours ago. Before that the marshal had hauled a drunk down the stairs and shoved him into one of the other cells. Booker was grateful for the resonant snore that tied him to humanity with its crude thread.
He could have been forgotten down here, for all he knew. The town overhead could have been swept away in a monstrous storm and he wouldn't know. The isolation was complete.
He'd wired his commanding officer at Fort Scott, who wired right back that he would try to be here by Monday. Booker'd wired Lincoln, too, but he'd had no luck reaching his alibi to testify that he hadn't been in Omaha the night of the murder. He doubted Marshal Hardy would deliver his return messages.
Still, Booker wasn't afraid.
He was mad. He stacked his hands beneath his head and tried to find a comfortable position on the lumpy cot. He couldn't forget Thea's reaction—her behavior... her words. Her voice had been accusing, her eyes filled with mistrust and doubt. She'd pulled away from his touch. Nothing had ever left him so cold. So empty. So hurt. He'd never needed to hold her so badly, never wanted to see love shining from her eyes as much as he'd wanted to see it that day. When she turned to leave he'd wanted to stop her, pull her into his arms and find the strength and love he needed to survive this ordeal.
Of course Red Horse knew him as well as any man could, and knew the truth instinctively. Even Lucas hadn't had a doubt in his mind. But Thea. Thea.
It hurt to have her think he was capable of cold-blooded murder.
From far away, a metallic sound roused him from his thoughts. He strained his ears and listened. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a deep voice murmured. A square of light bobbed on the ceiling. Who would come this late at night? A lynching party? Booker's heart hammered up into his throat. On the other side of the door, the marshal must have been relighting the lantern. The key rattled in the lock, and the door swung open.
He sat up and blinked against the painful light.
"Knock when you're ready," the marshal said. Through squinted eyes, Booker made out Marshal Hardy with trousers on over his union suit. The tall woman beside him couldn't be anyone but Thea. Booker pushed to his feet.
"What are you doing here?" Booker asked after the door closed and locked.
She placed a napkin-wrapped bundle on the end of the cot. "I brought you something to eat."
"In the middle of the night?" he asked.
"It's morning," she replied. She held the lantern up and studied his face. "I should have thought to bring a razor."
"They wouldn't have let you," he told her.
"Oh." She glanced away, and then back at his face. "You're angry with me, aren't you?"
"Yes."
Her brows rose at his reply. "Have you reached someone who can be here on Monday?"
"My commanding officer said he'd try to be here."
"How about the woman you were with in Lincoln?"
"I tried."
"And?"
"And I didn't reach her."
Apparently, that information riled her. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. "Why did you bother to pretend with me? I would have helped you with Zoe, you knew that. You used me. You used my needs and my feelings. You took everything I had to give. You only married me for Zoe."
Booker absorbed those words and they blended with the hurt already in his own soul. He knew his own motives, and he knew why he'd married her. "Okay," he admitted. "I manipulated you."
She turned her face sharply toward the door.
"But who used who?" he asked. "You wanted Zoe," he reminded her. "That's why it was so easy. I knew how badly you wanted her, how much you wanted to have her as your own child."
"You admit you took advantage of me?" she asked.
"Yes."
She turned her face back, and the lantern light revealed her anguish.
"I wanted you," he said simply. "I married you because I wanted you. Were your motives that noble? Who should be feeling used here? You wanted Zoe. I wanted you. That's why I married you."
She took stock of his expression, and let her gaze wander his face. "What kind of man are you?" she asked.
"Just a man," he replied.
"And the woman? Where does she fit into all of this?"
"If you had trusted me, you would have seen. If you had trusted me, you wouldn't have doubted."
"Everything you've done, you've done for Zoe," she said, denying he'd ever thought of her. "The tree," she said, as though just remembering. "I know you planted that tree for her."
"I planted that tree for you." He let the words sink in. "I knew how helpless you felt. And I didn't want you to feel like you'd let her down."
They stood like that for what seemed an eternity. Booker wished he could turn the clock back, rearrange events and say things he should have. He prayed it wasn't too late. But, her doubt pierced him like nothing ever had, and no words could heal the gaping hole in his chest where his heart should have been.
He wanted to tell her again that he loved her. Wanted to pull her close and feel her heartbeat, gather comfort and reassurance from her warm touch. But he couldn't. His feet and hands wouldn't move. His voice stuck in his throat.
She turned, and her skirts swished in the silence of the dank room. She knocked on the door. A minute later, the marshal unlocked the door, and she stepped out. The key clicked in the lock. The marshal's voice dissipated. Booker sank to the edge of the smelly cot and, his elbows resting on his knees, clutched his head in both hands. It almost didn't matter anymore. If they hung him, he'd be dead and wouldn't know the difference. If they set him free, he had nothing to live for. Except Zoe. And Lucas. Was that enough to keep a man going? It would have to be.
* * *
Thea lay in the darkness of the Woodridges' spare room, staring up at the night sky through the open window. Beside her, Zoe slept fitfully, occasionally whimpering. She'd gone back to the house for clothes that afternoon, and had walked the airy silent rooms of their home. The entire house reflected Booker, his simple tastes, his strong masculine appeal. The house itself was nothing but wood and stone, but he'd breathed character into each room, sealed each crack and crevice with love and polished it off with care and concern.
It was more than a house. It was a symbol of his love, a testimony to his faith and his hope for the future. She'd let him down.
How could any man do all this—work his fingers to the bone building the house and the mill, spend time with Zoe and Lucas, plan their future, make all-consuming passionate love to her—and still have time or energy left for another woman?
He couldn't. Her own insecurities, her self-doubt and low opinion of herself had conjured up that other woman. Was it true? Had he planted that tree for her, so that she wouldn't feel inadequate? He had told her that he loved her.
She, Too-Tall Thea Coulson, the child who'd been ridiculed, the woman who'd never received a flirtatious glance or a kiss, and had never seen herself as someone a man could love. She hadn't felt beautiful or admired or worthy of attention and praise.
She truly hadn't believed Booker could love her. Hadn't seen herself as a woman who could hold a man's attention. She might as well have called him a liar, for all the doubts she'd voiced and the accusations she'd made. She'd actually done what she'd accused him of doing—married him for Zoe. Hadn't she? Good old self-sacrificing Thea had used Booker Hayes. She scoffed at herself in the darkness.
You've really done it this time, Thea. How could she make it up to him? It
might be too late. She closed her eyes tightly and squeezed back tears. She'd behaved so selfishly.
Sounds registered, interrupting her thoughts. Riders approached the house. Thea climbed over Zoe and looked out the open window. "Who is it?" she called down to the two riders below. At the same time, her uncle's voice carried across the yard. "What's going on?"
"Came to warn you!" Thea recognized Edgar Birch's voice. "Irving Jackson's got the men all... riled up! They're goin' to bust Hayes from the jail!" he panted.
"Oh, my—" Thea spun back to the room and yanked her dress from a hook. She stepped into it and struggled with the buttons.
The door slammed open, outlining Lucas in a golden halo of lamplight. Zoe sat up and blinked in confusion.
"Don't bother with the wagon," Thea said to the boy. "We'll ride. Lucas." She stepped in front of him and took his shoulders. "I want you to go get my father. Do you think you can find the farm on your own from here?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and shot back out the door. Thea lit a lantern and quickly dressed Zoe. Snake and Red Horse waited with the horses. Red Horse helped her mount and took Zoe into his own lap.
The ride took forever. Thea was afraid one of the horses would stumble in the dark, but Red Horse led the way without mishap.
Thea could hear the crowd before they saw them. The throng gathered in front of the marshal's quarters, lanterns bobbing, rifles raised. Two men restrained Marshal Hardy. He wore his one-piece underwear. A trickle of blood ran down his chin from the corner of his mouth.
"You can't do this," the marshal shouted. "The justice is going to hear his case in the morning."
"You know old man Henney will let him off," Irving Jackson shouted. "And we won't stand for it. The man's been nothing but trouble since he came here."
Snake Woodridge helped his niece dismount, and spoke to Red Horse. "Stay back. Y'hear?"
Red Horse nodded.
Thea clutched Zoe in her arms and followed her uncle toward the front of the crowd.
"I say we hang 'im now and get it over with!" Shouts of agreement went up around the mob. Grateful for once that she was tall enough to see above most heads, Thea found the man who'd received the reaction from the crowd.
Ronan Bard, swaying on his feet, led a cluster of men toward the boardwalk. It was apparent the men leading the offense had been drinking. Irving Jackson stepped onto the boardwalk. "Are we gonna let outsiders come in and start killing off our townspeople? First he tried to kill Jim Coulson. Next he cornered me in the alley and damned near killed me. And now this! Who's gonna be next? Are we safe?"
Shouts merged and the crowd surged forward.
"Wait a minute!" Ezra Hill worked his way from the edge of the milling crowd to the boardwalk. "Just hold on. Hayes hired me to work for him, and I spent a lot of time at his place. He's not the kind of man who would kill someone in cold blood."
"He's got you fooled," Irving Jackson shouted.
"What about the watch?" Bard joined in. "His watch was under Clancy, wasn't it? Couldn't've been no one but Hayes."
The marshal struggled ineffectually against the men holding him. Irving and several others strode into the building through the office door.
Panic filled Thea's chest. Clutching Zoe, she pushed against the bodies in front of her, progressing only an inch or so at a time. She couldn't let them do this. "Stop this!" she shouted. "Stop!" but her words were lost in the mingled shouts and curses.
Jackson and another man came through the door with Booker struggling between them. He got one arm loose and gave Jackson a bone-crunching fist in the jaw. Stunned, Irving staggered and drew his pistol. Another man took his place holding Booker's arm, and Jackson held the gun to Booker's temple.
In his other hand, Jackson held up a gold pocket watch on a long chain. The lantern light reflected off the precious metal. "This yours?"
Booker glanced from the watch to the crowd. "It's mine, but I didn't kill that man."
"He did. That proves it!" Bard shouted.
Jackson tied Booker's hands behind his back. The crush of bodies parted to absorb Booker, and the pack moved into the street. Thea lost sight of her husband. Her heart hammered in horror-stricken fear.
At the edge of town, lights came on in the last few houses. Lorraine Edwards appeared on her stoop in a housecoat and observed the crowd. Catching sight of Thea, she fought her way through the throng to her side.
Two enormous oak trees grew at the edge of town. Someone produced a rope and threw the end up over a sturdy branch. Thea fought her way toward the front with Zoe on her hip and Lorraine tugging at her elbow. A bearded man, reeking of whiskey, grabbed her arm and tried to push her back.
In that cumulative moment of complete chaos and terror, her eyes met Booker's across the bobbing sea of heads separating them.
"Get your hands off her!" her husband shouted, rage contorting the hard lines of his face. With a burst of formidable energy, Booker threw himself against one of the men holding him, knocking him down and throwing Jackson off balance. Shouts went up from the crowd. Jackson cursed and reached for Booker. Booker twisted and sent another body toppling into the crowd. From the crush of bodies, a rifle butt rose, and the attacker struck Booker on the side of the head. He staggered.
Smothering panic rose in Thea's throat, restricting her breathing. For an instant her vision blurred, then cleared.
Numb, Thea saw Booker lifted onto a horse. The animal pranced restlessly, nostrils flaring. Booker sat stiffly, the noose tight around his neck, blood trickling to his ear from a cut on his scalp. With a burst of strength, Thea shoved her way forward, Zoe clinging to her neck. She lost Lorraine in the crowd.
Nothing had ever been as imperative as getting to that horse. Thea broke through the last human barrier and grabbed the bridle. Ronan Bard growled a curse and smacked Thea away. She held fast to the leather bridle, Zoe clutched on one hip. If this horse ran, she went with it.
A shot came from the back of the crowd, and the animal pranced squeamishly. Thea held on with every ounce of strength she possessed.
Someone bobbed beneath the horse's neck and a slender arm grabbed the reins. She glanced down at Lucas, his youthful face indicating both fear and determination.
"Let him down." Heads turned and Jim Coulson made his way through the parting crowd. Thea wanted to feel relieved at her father's intervention. She needed to think he could make a difference, but doubted the bloodthirstiness running through these drunken men wouldn't be reasoned with. "This isn't justice," Thea's father warned the group of men. "You've all had too much to drink, or you wouldn't be doin' this."
"Too late!" Bard shouted.
"This is our justice," Irving Jackson added. He raised his hand to slap the horse's rump. Bard tried to peel Zoe from Thea's grasp. Her heart stopped.
"No-o-o-o-o!" A shrill scream pierced a sharp pain in Thea's ear. Thea turned her head and stared at the child in her arm.
bookmark:Chapter 18
Chapter 18
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Even the crowd quieted.
"No-o-o!" Zoe screamed again.
Frantic tears rose in Thea's throat. She swallowed hard and held fast to the bridle. The frightened horse bobbed his massive head, nearly ripping her arm from its socket. Pain shot across her shoulders. Lucas, too, strained to keep the horse in place.
"No! Not him!" Zoe screamed. "That bad man had the watch! I saw the bad man take it!"
Jim Coulson strode to Thea and took Zoe from her trembling arm. Thea used the freed hand to clamp onto the leather strap across the animal's nose. "What bad man, darlin'? Tell Grandpa what bad man you saw."
Zoe pointed a finger. "Him. He took the watch the day he hurt Lucas at the warm house."
Shocked to the core, Thea met her father's eyes. "The housewarming," she clarified.
All eyes turned to the man Zoe indicated.
Ronan took a step backward. Hate glittered in his dark eyes. "You gonna believe a kid for cryin’ out lou
d? A stupid kid, who never even talked b'fore?"
"I think she didn't have anything important to say until now. That right, Zoe?" Thea's father asked.
The little girl nodded.
"You're as stupid as she is, then," Bard yelled, and staggered. "I shoulda killed ya when I had the chance."
A murmur ran through the crowd at his admission. Jackson gaped at Bard. He helped Lucas and Thea steady the horse, keeping Bard under his scrutiny. The horror creeping across his expression was clearly visible. "You shot Jim—and killed Clancy."
Bard turned and ducked between two men. One of them reached out and grabbed his shirt, and the other restrained him. Bard kicked and fought against the hold.
"I guess we have a different man for the arraignment tomorrow," Marshal Hardy said. "Take him to the jail," he ordered with a jerk of his thumb. "And let Hayes down."
Relief swelled in Thea's chest, but she couldn't move. Irving had to peel her lifeless hands from the bridle. He avoided Thea's eyes and stood her away from the horse. Edgar Birch appeared with a knife and cut the binding holding Booker's hands. Booker reached for the rope at his neck and tugged it off over his head. He raised one long leg over the horse's back and slid to the ground.
Immediately, Thea moved into his embrace, wrapped her arms around his solid torso and clung to him. He cupped the back of her head and pressed his lips against her temple. Thank God, he was safe. He was alive. He was in her arms. She pulled back and looked at him. Blood glistened in the hair above his ear. She'd come so close to losing him.
If he'd died, she would never have had the chance to tell him she believed in him. Never again would she let a minute pass that he wasn't assured of her love and trust.
Lucas moved to her side. Both she and Booker loosened an arm to include the boy in their embrace.
"I want Booker now." The childish voice interrupted Thea's desperate reunion, a voice she was unaccustomed to hearing, a voice that brought such sad-sweet joy to her heart, she wanted to weep. She stepped back and let Booker take Zoe from her father. Lucas took Thea's hand.
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