by Bobbi Smith
"The man from the jail, the man they were wanting to hang ...O'Keefe."
Dev returned the youngster's regard in silence for a moment, then answered with the truth. "Yes, I am."
Jimmy nodded knowingly, seeming far older than his eight years. "I kinda figured you were. I knew Molly had to have a real good reason to make you hide like that."
"I appreciate you not saying anything."
The boy shrugged. "I promised Molly, I wouldn't." He paused, then asked boldly. "Why'd you kill Santana?"
Dev's spirits sank. Did everybody believe him guilty? I didn't kill him," he replied quietly, "but everyone seems to think I did."
"Why?"
"The sheriff found a part from my silver belt at Santana's ranch and that supposedly linked me to the crime Truth is, though, I've never been to Santana's ranch, and I didn't shoot him. I don't know how that evidence got there."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"There's not much I can do. I've got a friend named Clay who's trying to help get me free, but for the time being, all I can do is sit and wait and hope that a trial will prove me out."
"Molly must think you're innocent or she would never have brought you home with her," he stated blundy.
"I'm glad she has faith in me. What about you, Jimmy? What do you think?"
Jimmy was thoughtful for a moment, then spoke with a child's clear and uncluttered honesty. "If Molly says you're innocent, then I guess I think you are, too. You're not going to try to run away or anything, are you?"
"No, I'm not going to run. If I ran, people would really think I was guilty," Dev said fiercely. He wanted his freedom, but not at the expense of his reputation. He did not want to go through life a wanted man.
Jimmy listened attentively, judging the man not by an adult's logical standards but by a child's standards of the heart. Dev was nothing like what he thought a killer would be. He looked him in the eye and talked to him man to man. He was nice, and he was certainly brave if he wasn't going to try to escape like a regular bad guy would. Jimmy was convinced.
"Don't worry," the boy assured him. "I won't tell anybody you're here. I promised Molly, and I never break promises."
Having straightened things out in his own mind, Jimmy returned to his mother's side.
It was late when Molly finally finished work. Bertha had been particularly mean and demanding, and Molly had had to work twice as hard just to stay even with her vicious, nitpicking ways. She was exhausted as she made the trek to the small house, but she knew the night was far from over. She still had her mother to worry about. She was torn between the fear that she was worse and the hope that she was better. That, along with her concern about Dev, was taking its toll.
Molly had told Jimmy to lock the door from the inside when she'd left, and she was pleased to find that it was still firmly barred when she returned. She knocked lightly.
"Jimmy ...it's me, Molly." She called out very softly, not wanting to disturb her mother, should she be sleeping. After only a moment, Molly heard the lock turn. When the door swung slowly open, she found herself face to face with Dev.
Molly was startled by the surge of heartfelt love that rocketed through her at the sight of him. He looked so tall, powerful, and handsome that her breath caught in her throat. She wondered distractedly how it was that he'd come to mean so much to her in such a short period of time.
Dev was glad that she was back. He didn't realize just how much he'd missed her until he saw her again. Stepping quickly aside to allow her to enter, he breathed her name in an almost aching sigh, .
Mesmerized by his nearness, Molly had to force herself to action. Giving herself a mental shake, she hurried inside and shut and locked the door behind her. Trying to maintain her equilibrium, she diverted her own attention, asking, "Did everything go all right? How's my mother?"
"Everything's been quiet. Jimmy's stayed in with your mother all evening. I offered to relieve him several times, but he wanted to be with her. Last time I checked, she was resting peacefully."
"Thank goodness. I've been so worried about her ...and about you."
"You have?"
"Yes." Ever since Bertha had remarked about Dev being strung up, Molly had been tormented by the thought. She knew without a doubt that Dev was a good, decent man. He had come to mean a great deal to her, and she couldn't bear the thought of anything ever happening to him.
Their eyes locked, and Dev saw in the depths of her gaze all the turbulent emotions she was feeling for him. There was a hungry desperation to the moment as they stood there in silence. But Dev put an end to it, letting his gaze slide away from hers, breaking that intimate contact.
The misery of his situation was almost too much for him to bear. Not too long before, his life with Clay had ambled on in relative contentment. He hadn't needed anyone or anything. Then this trouble over Santana had engulfed him, and he'd been trapped. Only Molly's presence had gotten him through the last long days and nights, He'd come to love her even before he'd laid a hand on her.
Now, though, he was afraid of what her contact with him would do to her. He had nothing to give her-nothing, not even his good name. He had to put an end to this madness before it got started. He had to keep his distance from her for fear that he wouldn't be able to control his own volatile emo tions. He wanted her. He ached to hold her close, kiss her and keep that look in her eyes. He knew it would be so easy, too, for she was a warm, loving and giving person. Yet he knew it was impossible.
Dev suddenly had to get away. She was much too wonderful, and he needed her too badly. He moved away from her and didn't stop until he was at the door, one hand resting on the knob. He paused as he glanced back over his shoulder.
"I need to go outside for a while."
Molly was stunned by the sudden change in Dev. Just moments before they had almost embraced, and now he was being cold and elusive. "All right," she answered, not knowing what else to say.
"And Molly..."
"Yes?"
He could see the confusion and hurt in her expression, but he thought it was far better that he stop what was happening between them now. "I just want you to know that I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. You've given me far too much already." With that, he opened the door and left the house.
There had been something so grim and so final about his words that they chilled Molly. She stared sifter him in dismay, realizing that it wasn't his gratitude she wanted. She wanted his love.
Charley, Rex, and Bucky all sat at a table in the Golden Horseshoe trying to figure out who had gone ahead to warn the sheriff that they were coming. Charley's mean-eyed gaze surveyed the men at the bar as he wondered which one had ruined his plan to kill O'Keefe.
"Who didn't go along with us?" Charley asked, unable to pick the one man who might have betrayed them.
"I'm not sure." Bucky was indecisive. "I thought most everybody joined us"
"What about that old coot there in the back?" Rex pointed to where Wily stood at the end of the bar. "I remember seeing him when we were first startin' to talk it up, but I didn't see him anywhere in the crowd."
Charley's eyes narrowed as he studied the old man. Almost as if he'd felt his gaze upon him, Wily looked up in his direction. For just an instant, they glared at each other, staring each other down. Wily's expression was tinged with defiance, and he didn't flinch before Charley's intimidating look.
All three men read Wily's expression correctly and exchanged knowing looks.
"It was him, all right," Bucky spoke up.
"If the sheriff talks to that old man, he's gonna find out everything that went on in here tonight," Charley said slowly, calculating his next move.
"Then get rid of him" Bucky suggested casually.
"Yeah, why don't you just shoot the old geezer and be done with it?" Rex suggested with drunken casualness. "There wouldn't be anybody missin' him, that's for sure."
"What are you two, idiots? All I'd need is another body to worry about,"
Charley growled at his companions, not believing their stupidity. "His kind's weak and scares real easy. It won't take much to chase him off. Watch..."
Charley slid his chair back noisily from the table. Taking his beer with him, he stalked toward Wily.
Wily watched him approach and knew he faced danger. As Charley drew closer, he directed his attention back to his tumbler of whiskey in hopes that the trouble would just pass him by. But it was not to be.
"Old man," he called out to him derogatorily.
Wily looked up again, his expression wary and frightened. "You want somethin'?"
"Yeah. I want to know where you were tonight during all the excitement?"
"I don't believe in all that rabble-rousin' foolishness. I got out of the way," he responded, downing the rest of his drink with a shaking hand, then pushing the glass forward toward the barkeep for a refill.
"I'll just bet you did. Well, you know what? Me and the boys were just talkin', and we got a feelin' that somebody went to the sheriff and told him that were were comin' to string O'Keefe up. What do you think about that?"
"I don't think nothing about it. Why're you tellin' me this?"
"I was just thinkin'." Charley lowered his tone as he braced one elbow against the bar next to Wily and leaned real close.
"You were, eh?" Wily didn't look up. He kept his gaze focused on his glass. He wanted to tell him that the thought of him thinking was an amazing thing, but he knew better. His life wouldn't be worth a plug nickel if he pushed this man too far.
"Yeah, old man, I was, and I came to the conclusion that you might have been the one who told the sheriff what we were plannin'. You know, if that's the case, it might be real healthy for you to make yourself scarce, maybe even get out of town. You understand me?"
Wily wanted to face him down, but he didn't. Years ago, he might have been fast enough on the draw to beat him, but these days he was just too blamed old. This Stevens fella was a cold one. He could feel it, and he wasn't about to rile him up any more than he already had. "I hear ya."
"Good." Charley turned and walked back to his own table, his stride confident and cocky.
Wily remained at the bar, shaken by his un spoken threat.
The barkeep leaned close to give him some sage advice. "If I were you, I'd do what he says. That man is one mean hombre."
Wily finished off the refill the bartender had given him and then quickly departed the saloon. He never glanced back in Charley's direction.
Charley was smug as he rejoined his friends. "Didn't I tell you the man was a coward? I'm a good judge of a man's character," he bragged.
"Except for Santana," Rex added, and he was rewarded with a vicious look.
"I thought the bastard would just give us the money without much of a fuss. I sure as hell didn't think I was going to have to shoot him, but he made me mad." Charley scowled as he remembered his encounter with the rancher.
"So what axe we going to do now?" Bucky asked.
"Nothing," came his curt reply. He was still annoyed that his plan had been thwarted. "There ain't a damned thing we can do, now that the sheriffs expecting trouble. We'll just have to sit tight and hope O'Keefe is found guilty."
"And if he ain't? What if they let him go and start lookin' again?" Bucky asked fearfully.
"We'll worry about that later."
Sheriff Macauley was sitting slumped at his desk, his loaded shotgun laid out ready before him, a single, low-burning lamp turning the darkness of the office to a semi-gloom. Though he was physically weary, there was nothing slow or tired about his thoughts as he contemplated the events of the evening. He'd been running this town for years now, and had never had anything like this happen before.
This unexpected frenzy to see O'Keefe hang didn't make much sense to him. O'Keefe had been locked up for weeks now, and there had hardly been a word said. Then all of a sudden tonight, the public was worked up about it and wanted to see immediate justice done.
Macauley wondered what the reasons were behind this avid interest. He had a nagging feeling that there was something more to this than just an angry mob of citizens out for vigilante justice, that there was someone out there who, for some as yet unknown reason, wanted O'Keefe dead. Since he always followed his instincts, he knew this bore looking into. He had a suspicion that if he found out who'd started it all, he might uncover a connection to Santana's real murderer.
Macauley tried to remember if there had been an instigator in the crowd, but no one person stood out in his mind. Certainly when he'd backed them down, no one had come forth and tried to rally them against him. He knew there had to be somebody behind it all, though, and he made a mental note to locate Wily in the morning and find out from him exactly who had been stirring things up in the saloon.
"Jimmy, I'm going to go outside for a few minutes. I'll be right back," Molly told him softly as he kept the vigil in the chair at their mother's bedside.
"All right," he answered sleepily. "I'll keep watch."
Molly smiled softly at his determination to stay awake. He was tired, but he was also as stubborn as they came. He had no intention of going to bed yet. He wanted to remain right where he was, just in case their mother awoke and needed anything.
Confident that he would be fine, Molly left the house, then paused outside the door for a moment, trying to guess where Dev might have gone. He'd left her over an hour ago, and as time had passed she'd grown concerned about him. The possibility that he might have fled didn't even occur to her. She knew he would never do that. Finding no clue as to the direction he'd gone, she wandered down the path that led past their small tumbledown barn and on to the small pond beyond.
It was late, and the moon was high in the night sky, casting everything in silvered relief. Molly couldn't see Dev anywhere around, but the irregular sound of something like pebbles being thrown into the water drew her on. As she moved down the bank, she caught sight of him sitting on a rock there gazing out across the moon-dappled pond. The harsh shadows of the moonlight cast sharp lines and angles to his face, giving him a very lonely, forlorn look as he aimlessly tossed one small stone after another. Her heart contracted in sympathy at the pain she saw etched in his features. She wanted to go to him and embrace him. She wanted to reassure him and tell him that everything would be all right, but remembering his coolness when he'd left her earlier, she hesitated to be so bold.
"Dev?" she said his name gently.
Dev glanced up to see Molly standing there in the moon's glow. He'd done nothing but think about her since he'd left the house, and it seemed almost too good to be true that she was actually there. Gilded as she was by the pale light, she looked more lovely than ever, with her hair streaming down around her shoulders in soft, loose curls. He had to fight down the urge to cast aside the handful of rocks he was holding and rush to take her in his arms. It took an effort, but he managed to stay where he was.
"Molly." His voice was husky as his gaze devoured her. He wanted to remember for all time just how beautiful she looked right now. "Why did you come? Is something wrong?"
"You tell me," Molly prodded. She wanted him to open up to her, to share all that was troubling him. She wanted to help if she could.
"Nothing's wrong," he lied. Resisting the temptation to love her, he tore his gaze away from her and looked out across the placid waters.
"Are you sure?" she asked again, taking a step closer to rest a hand on his shoulder.
Her gentle touch ignited Dev's passion, and his anger. He didn't know how one simple touch could arouse him so, but it did. He wanted her! God, how he wanted her! He'd been sitting here dreaming of nothing else, and yet he knew it could never be. He cursed the hand fate had dealt him as he came abruptly to his feet, shrugging away from her hand.
"Hell, Molly, everything's wrong! But there's nothing we can do to change anything," he told her, raking a hand through his hair in a nervous, weary gesture.
"We can talk about it. Maybe that will help."
"Tal
king about it won't do any good. Nothing will," he said bitterly.
Molly could see the agony he was in, and she ached for him. She could no longer stop herself from reaching out. She needed to comfort him. Without thought, she went to him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. The beat of his thundering heart beneath her cheek sounded strong and sure, and a soft sigh escaped her.
"Let me try, Dev."
Her offer was a mesmerizing enchantment in the midst of his torment. She lifted her head to gaze up at him, and her eyes were shining with the love she felt. Dev had managed not to react to her embrace until he made the mistake of looking down at her. His control snapped as he saw her expression. He groaned in abject misery as he surrendered to his need to kiss her once more.
"Ali... Molly..."
It was a kiss for all time as his warring emotions drove him to new heights of passion and pain. He wanted her, but couldn't have her. She was offering him the heaven he'd longed for all his life, and yet he couldn't take it. He tightened his embrace, crushing her to him.
Molly clung to him, feeling and sharing his desperation. She loved him completely and only wanted to please him. When his lips left hers for a moment, she whispered, "Dev...I love you so..."
Her words jarred him to the depths of his soul. He continued to hold her close for a moment, then took her by the arms and stepped back away from her. "No, Molly."
"No?" She was puzzled. "Dev?"
"Molly, you don't mean that. You can't mean that," he argued, releasing her abruptly.
"But I do," she insisted.
Dev's mouth twisted as the hopelessness of his situation haunted him again, and he turned his back on her, walking down to the water. "I won't let you," he declared, as if such things could be dictated.
"What do you mean you won't let me?" She stared after him in disbelief.
"It's impossible, Molly. I can't give you anything. I can't even promise you tomorrow!" Dev found that his hands were shaking as he argued with her, denying himself that which he desired most.
She understood what he was thinking, but she refused to be so easily dismissed. "I don't care about any of that! I love you!"