by Diana Palmer
He touched her soft cheek. “Andrew is the youngest son,” he said simply. “He longs to be what he can never be. He has no stomach for it.”
“But you do.” She looked into his eyes and finally she understood. “Jared, you have killed men.”
“Yes.” He withdrew his hand as bits and pieces of the past flashed horribly into his mind. “Yes, I have.”
“And known women.”
His jaw clenched. He didn’t answer.
“Talk to me,” she pleaded, catching him by his coat sleeves. “Tell me.”
His chest rose roughly. “You ask for things I can’t give you.”
“In the very beginning, you said that we would always be honest with each other, Jared.”
“The sort of honesty you want would be brutal,” he said flatly. “Noelle, I wasn’t the man I am now. Do you understand, even a little? I was…” His voice faded away under the look in her soft eyes.
“You don’t want to remember, is that the truth?” She moved closer and her eyes never wavered. “Nothing will make any difference to me,” she said. “Nothing you’ve done, nothing you ever do. You’ve been the best friend I’ve ever had. Friends don’t stop caring because a man has been less than perfect.”
“Is that all you require of me, Noelle—friendship?” he asked quietly, thinking that her anger toward Andrew still had a hollow ring to it. She would probably run to him if he came back with an apology on his lips. He mustn’t lose sight of that.
Her eyes fell to his mouth and lingered there. “Isn’t friendship all you have to give me?” she whispered back, her voice tormented.
Chapter Thirteen
WHEN JARED GOT back to his office, he forced Noelle from his mind temporarily and went over his case notes. He’d interviewed Brian Clark in the city jail and obtained all the man’s movements for the day of the robbery. He had a keen intuition about truth, and it was telling him that the black man was innocent. But Clark himself admitted that he had been in Marlowe’s store the day of the robbery and that he was on his way back to the Beale ranch at the time the robbery occurred. He couldn’t prove he hadn’t robbed Marlowe any more than he could prove that he traveled from town before the robbery occurred, because there was no witness to back up his story. And Marlowe, the victim, was still in a coma.
On the other hand, there was a nasty atmosphere in town about the robbery, more so because old man Marlowe was still in a bad way. And a loudmouthed rabble-rouser had been spreading the story around town that he’d seen Clark come running out of the dry goods store just after Marlowe was robbed. He was also heard to espouse the cause of necktie justice.
John Garmon, one of the wranglers at Terrance Beale’s huge ranch, was also telling everyone who would listen that Clark had said he needed money real bad and would do anything to get it. A brutal man like that, Garmon had added to his small audience, should be lynched. There were murmurs of assent.
Word of that came back to Jared in an unexpected way. He had a visit from Clark’s employer, Terrance Beale himself.
The tall, dark-haired man with the scarred face was wearing working clothes. Not one to dress to please anyone but himself, Beale was a hard man who’d lived through rough times and looked it.
The two men measured each other quietly when Beale was ushered into Jared’s office.
Jared took off his reading glasses; his piercing blue eyes fixed on the other man’s equally pointed dark stare. After a minute, Jared motioned Beale into a chair. The visitor sat down, his leather bat-wing chaps creaking as he crossed his long legs and began to roll a cigarette.
“You’re representing my head wrangler on a robbery and assault charge,” Beale said after a minute. “He’s innocent.”
“I know,” Jared replied. He sat down, leaning back. “I wouldn’t have taken the case if I wasn’t certain of that.”
Beale chuckled faintly. He paused to finish his cigarette and light it. It fired smoke up to the ceiling while his narrow eyes fixed on the other man. “I didn’t know your name in El Paso, but I know you,” he said abruptly. “But you don’t remember me, do you?”
Jared scowled. Over the years, there had been a lot of cases, a lot of clients.
“No,” Beale replied aloud. “I can see that you don’t.” He fingered the deep scar on his cheek pointedly. “I was living in El Paso, working as a part-time town marshal. One night, three rowdies I’d arrested in a saloon busted out of jail, got tighter than they already were, and came looking for me in a dark alley with knives.”
Jared’s eyes narrowed. He remembered. “You!”
Beale nodded. “You saved my life that night. I’ve never seen grown men beg for mercy before. It was an enlightening experience.” He leaned forward abruptly. “Hell, I never expected to find you in a suit, defending my wrangler. I must confess, it somewhat threw me. You’ve changed.”
“You haven’t,” Jared said, chuckling. “I can’t say you’ve improved much in looks.”
“Well, time does age a man.”
“Beale.” Jared just shook his head. “I remember you, too, now, but I never would have known you if I hadn’t seen you in person. You went under another name on the border.”
“I changed it when I married Allison,” he said heavily. “I didn’t want her to have to worry about men I’d arrested coming after us. I moved here and got a stake.” His eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute—you’re Andrew Paige’s stepbrother.”
“That’s right,” he said tightly. It still irritated him just to hear Andrew’s name.
“My daughter, Jennifer, mentioned that Andrew’s stepbrother was defending Clark. I heard your name, but I had no idea it was you, of course.” He pondered for a minute. “What are Clark’s chances?”
“Not good. I’m glad he came to me,” Jared replied.
“Yes, on an impulse,” the older man said. “I’ve just been to see him at the city jail. He’d heard about you around town, and knew that you’d practiced criminal law in New York. He figured he’d need the best lawyer he could find.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose he knows that law isn’t all you do well.”
“That part of my life is over,” Jared said.
“You may think it is,” Beale replied. “I had those same ideas, that I could forget what I’d been, what I’d done. You can’t, you know. It comes out. It always comes out. Allison had never seen men fight, she knew nothing of violence. Then, one day, a man I’d sent to prison for murder got out on good behavior, just short of his full sentence, and came looking for me.” His face hardened. “He killed her. He killed her while I was out on the range, helping the boys brand cattle. He killed her, and then he sat and waited for me to come home and see what he’d done.”
Jared’s eyes narrowed. “My God.”
“She never hurt a soul,” he continued, wincing as he remembered. “She was the most gentle woman…” He took a long breath. “Well, he drew on me. I wasn’t even armed, but I went for him. I was so damned mad that I didn’t even feel the bullet hit me. Before I lost consciousness, I killed him with my bare hands. But it didn’t bring her back. Jennifer was twelve,” he recalled. “She came in while I was attacking him. It made her a little afraid of me. I think she still is.”
“I can understand how you felt.”
“You can,” he said, “because you’ve lived through wild times, too. But it’s hard for people who haven’t to accept.”
Jared was thinking of Noelle, and how she might react to the same sort of revelation about him. He tried to imagine his own feelings if someone from his past tried to hurt her. He knew in his heart that he’d do exactly as Beale had done, with no compunctions whatsoever, no regrets. It unsettled him to have to consider that.
“Your stepbrother is a fraud,” Beale continued suddenly. “A strutting dandy. But Jennifer is innocent and trustin
g and she wants him. Is he playing with her?”
“No,” Jared replied, although he was only voicing his hopes. He hoped that Andrew really felt something for the girl. Certainly he felt enough not to let himself be pushed into marrying Noelle. Noelle might still love him, but if Andrew stayed away—especially if he found a girl to love—Noelle might forget him. Jared hoped she would, at least.
Beale nodded. “I’m glad. I don’t approve of him,” he emphasized. “He’s too conscious of his background and his moneyed past. But I can tolerate him, for her sake.”
Jared laughed mirthlessly. “I’ve been tolerating him for my grandmother’s,” he confessed.
They exchanged smiles.
“There was something said about Andrew leaving your house under a cloud,” Beale persisted.
“There was no cloud,” Jared said firmly. “He left after I married Noelle Brown, his cousin,” he emphasized, stretching the truth a little. “He and Noelle don’t get along very well,” he added. “An unfortunate result of her getting to know him.”
Beale grinned. “Well, maybe the same thing will happen when Jennifer gets a dose of him.”
“A good woman might make a man of him,” Jared remarked carelessly.
Beale pursed his lips. He didn’t reply to that, but took a draw from his cigarette and fixed his dark eyes on the other man. “Another of my wranglers is going to testify for the prosecution,” he said out of the blue. “A man named John Garmon. He’s from Mississippi and he hates Negroes. He’s said things to Clark that I’d have beaten him to his knees for, but Clark just lets it go by him. I understand that Garmon saw Clark going into the dry goods store just minutes before Marlowe was robbed. He also told some people that Clark had confessed to needing money badly.”
“Clark doesn’t strike me as a greedy man.”
“He isn’t,” Beale said. “Furthermore, if he needed money, and it would have to be a case of real need, he’d come to me like the honorable man he is and ask for a loan. Which I would extend. And he knew that.”
“So why would he resort to beating and robbing a kind old man like Marlowe?” Jared said.
“Exactly.”
“This Garmon…how long has he worked for you?”
“Six months,” Beale replied. “He hates having to work with Clark. My foreman is retiring, and when I mentioned that I planned to offer the job to Clark instead of Garmon, he heard about it and threw a fit.” He leaned forward and put out the cigarette in the big ashtray on Jared’s desk. “He gambles,” he added, looking straight ahead at Jared. “And from all accounts, it would take a big man to beat Marlowe that badly, even at his age. He’s over six foot two and muscular. Garmon’s about that size himself. Clark is a smaller build altogether, and his left hand is crippled.”
Jared grinned. “You think like I do.”
“Once a lawman…” Beale got to his feet. “Clark doesn’t have any money except his wages. He doesn’t spend much, and he saves enough to send a money order back East to his mother and sister every month. Garmon owes every cent of his wages before he even gets them.”
“I’m glad you came in. You’ve given me something to work with.”
“It will help. If all else fails,” he added, with a wild glint in his eyes, “you can call Garmon out for me.”
Jared lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t resort to gunplay to win arguments these days.”
“That isn’t what they say over in Terrell,” the other man replied, tongue in cheek.
“Who’s been talking?”
“No need to watch your back with me,” Beale replied, moving toward the door. “I heard it from the judge. He plays poker with me every week.” He glanced back. “You want to keep an eye on Sims, that city detective. He’ll help Garmon if he can. Garmon’s spreading lynch talk.”
“That’s suspicious enough in itself,” Jared remarked quietly. “A fair trial is every man’s right.”
“Well, if you need help, you know where to come. I haven’t got arthritis so bad that I can’t jerk a gun if I have to. And I can hire other men who can. I don’t like necktie justice, either.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jared said.
* * *
THE LYNCH TALK disturbed him. Jared wanted a speedy trial, but not so swift that he didn’t have time to do a proper brief. He already knew that Clark had enemies, and Beale had just given him the man’s name, despite the fact that Clark wouldn’t. That had been an unexpected break. Now he was going to do some investigating and see what he could dig up about the man.
Toward that end, he cabled an ex-Pinkerton agent he knew in Chicago, Matt Davis, and gave him John Garmon’s name, asking him to check it against Pinkerton’s files. Matt kept a copy of those he’d worked with during his Pinkerton days, and he wouldn’t have to do much investigating if there were cases against the man.
He made his notes, answered two telephone calls from potential clients, dictated answers to letters that had come in the morning mail, and then sat back and thought about Noelle and the sad look in her eyes—and the odd questions she’d asked when they parted at the back porch. “Isn’t friendship all you have to give me?” she’d asked. And he still felt the impact of those words hours later.
He toyed with a roll that fit on the Dictaphone machine. He’d tried to spend as little time as possible thinking about his feelings for Noelle. First there had been the differences between them, then her hostility, and then Andrew. Now there were no more real barriers, and he found himself wanting her as never before.
His whole body clenched as he remembered the sight of her pale, freckled breasts in the parlor weeks ago. She might fight him, call him names, even weep on his shoulder. But the instant he touched her, she permitted him to do anything he liked to her body.
He groaned and put the cartridge aside. He’d long ago given up any dreams of a wife and family, and now all he thought about was a child. It was reckless and dangerous. He had a past. This was Texas. He was much more likely to run into old enemies here than in New York, and there had been witnesses to the death of the cowboy the woman Ava had accused of rape and theft in Dodge City so many years ago. It would eventually become impossible to keep the past hidden from Noelle.
He wondered how he could ever tell her about the things he’d done. She never accused or lectured. She simply accepted. But he’d had a full-blown love affair with Ava, and he’d been on the wrong side of the law when he’d killed for her. He’d killed men when he was a Texas Ranger, as well. Noelle knew that. But she didn’t know how bad he’d been before he was on the side of the law, even if she knew him as no one else did.
At any rate, he wanted her desperately. And worse, it was more than a physical need to be near her. He’d grown addicted to just the sound of her soft voice and her flares of temper. He chuckled, thinking of her tearing across the neighborhood after Henry. She was unique. How could he ever give her up? If only Andrew would marry Miss Beale and put himself forever out of Noelle’s reach. She might still be nursing hopes of getting Andrew back, in spite of what happened. He had to guard his heart until she got over her love for Andrew. Until then, it would be better to keep a distance between them. But just this once—God in heaven, only once—he had to have her. A man must have memories to sustain him.
* * *
HE WENT HOME after work with all his worries and deep longings lying heavily on his heart. He ate without knowing what he ate, and all the while he stared at Noelle and watched her eyes fence with his, watched her flush at the way he was looking at her. Thank God, she wanted him, he thought. Where desire existed, perhaps love could.
After supper, the talk was of the trial. Noelle glanced at him shyly while he expressed his doubts about the outcome of a straight-out court trial.
“It would depend on finding twelve unbiased jurors who had no prejudices whatsoever—and wh
o would take the word of a Negro against that of several white men,” Jared said heavily.
“In other words,” Mrs. Dunn added, “a miracle.”
He nodded. “I’ve won cases without hard evidence,” he continued. “But in New York City, where a more sophisticated citizenry exists. Out here, it’s a different story. A lot of the people here grew up on the frontier. They’re hard because they’ve had to be. They believe what they see, what they know—”
“But the man is innocent,” Noelle interrupted.
“Yes,” he agreed, smiling at her. “But innocence is no guarantee of a not-guilty verdict. Men have been hanged on less evidence than the prosecution has here. And this cowboy who’s spreading lynch talk is the key to the whole case.”
“What will you do?” Noelle asked worriedly.
“Whatever I have to,” he replied.
Mrs. Dunn put down her embroidery and got to her feet. “Well, I have every confidence in your ability at the bar, my boy,” she said warmly. She paused at the doorway. “Sleep well. At my age, I find I tire much sooner than I used to.”
“Good night, then,” he said, and his words were echoed by a shy Noelle.
It was really no surprise that Mrs. Pate called good-night and went home barely two minutes later. Jared and Noelle were left together in the living room. She was still doing embroidery, but he was watching her. The grandfather clock chimed ten. He looked up and so did she, their eyes locking across the room.
He knew then that he would not be able to keep from doing what he ached to do. Her eyes were soft and warm and as hungry as his. It was no use. Just one time, to feed his heart, he assured himself, even as he felt his body clench. “You’re tired,” he said huskily. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you retire early, too?”
She got up, tingling all over, put up her handiwork, and paused to look at him with the shy question in her eyes.
He didn’t say anything. But he nodded, slowly, and the look in his pale eyes made her heart race.