The Lawman's Betrayal

by Sandi Hampton

  “Whenever you make that decision, whatever it is, I’ll be there.” He cleared his throat. “So now let’s eat. This steak looks delicious.”

  ****

  Wes followed Naomi up the dimly-lit stairway. She stopped in front of her room and turned to him.

  “Thank you…again. I feel like I’m always thanking you…for something.”

  He grinned. “You’re welcome.” He stretched out his hand. “Give me your key. I’m going to make sure everything is clear—no unwanted guests. I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Oh, okay.” She handed him the key and stepped aside.

  He unlocked the door. “You stay here.”

  She nodded.

  Wes pulled his gun, then opened the door. He peered inside. Although the room was dark, he saw nothing. No movement disturbed the stillness. He stepped inside the room and walked around, stooping to peer under the bed. “All clear.”

  As Naomi walked into the room, he pulled a match, lit the lamp, and turned to her. “Lock the door and stay inside.”

  “I will. Well, good night.”

  She licked her lips—as if asking him to kiss them. That was almost his undoing. But while he wanted to pull her into his arms and ravish her mouth, he couldn’t let his emotions control him. He walked out into the hallway. “Sleep well. I think I’ll grab a drink at the saloon. Lock the door and stay inside.”

  “All right.” She disappeared behind the door.

  Wes waited until he heard the key rasp in the lock. He stared at the closed door, wanting to knock it down and drag her across the hall to his room…to his bed. He sighed deeply—that could never happen, must never happen. He made his way down the stairs and out the door. A few strides took him down the street to the Silver Spur saloon. Music and laughter spilled out of the smoke-filled room. His experience had shown a saloon was a good place to pick up information.

  As he pushed open the swinging door, the odor of cigarettes, liquor and unwashed bodies assaulted him. For a moment, he reconsidered his decision, but he caught a glimpse of Bert Russell at the bar. He checked his gun, then walked in and sauntered to the far end of the bar, turning to face the people. The hostility in the room was almost tangible, and his gut clenched, that familiar feeling when danger was in the air. The piano player deserted the piano, and a hush settled over the room.

  The bartender appeared. “What’ll it be?”

  “Whiskey.”

  The hum of voices resumed. Wes sipped his drink. It burned all the way down. He scanned the room. Russell was the only person he knew. One of the girls, a brassy blonde, strolled his way, her hips swaying provocatively. His first inclination was to shake his head, but he quickly changed his mind. She might be a good source of information. Maybe she’d even known the Morales woman.

  “Well, hello Marshal. You that there lawman who brought that Brecker woman to town?” She moved closer to him, so close she rubbed against him. Her heavy scent was overpowering.

  He studied her—she’d been pretty once. Now age showed in the wrinkles around her eyes—and the hard line of her jaw.

  “Yeah, that’d be me. What’s your name, honey?”

  “Dolly.”

  “Nice name. I like it.”

  “My daddy named me. Said I looked like a china doll.” She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

  “I can see why,” he lied.

  Dolly’s face broke into a smile. “I like you, honey. Buy me a drink.”

  “My pleasure.” He motioned to the bartender. “Bring the lady a drink.”

  At the word ‘lady,’ Dolly almost purred. “Thanks, Marshal.”

  “You been in Gila Bend awhile, Dolly? I don’t remember seeing you before, and I sure would remember you.”

  “Oh, sugar, ain’t you sweet? Yeah, I been here about five years.” She sipped her drink. “I like it here.”

  “So you were here during the Brecker woman’s trial?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you know Rita Jones or Rose Morales?”

  “Yeah, I—” Her eyes widened, and she clamped her lips shut.

  Bert Russell appeared at her side. “Hey, Dolly, Pete’s looking for you. He needs to talk to you.”

  “Sure, Sheriff, I’m going—right now.” She finished her drink in one gulp. “Thanks, Marshal.” She rushed off, almost running.

  Wes eyed Russell. “Must have been important.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” Russell pushed his hat back. “So how long you staying in town, Cooper?”

  Wes shrugged. “As long as it takes.”

  “As long as what takes?”

  Another shrug.

  “What?” Russell persisted.

  Wes ignored the question and gulped the last of his drink. He fished a few coins from his pocket and tossed them on the bar. Without another word, he turned and left. He’d got what he came for. Russell had not wanted Dolly to talk to him.

  Why?

  He stopped on the sidewalk, lit a cigarette, took a drag on it, and scanned the town. Only a few cowboys loitered on the street. Music blared from the saloon behind him. One of the cowboys stepped off the porch and walked over to his horse. Wes tensed. He couldn’t swear to it, but the gray gelding looked familiar—like the one that had been following him and Naomi. He wanted a word with that cowpoke. He tossed the cigarette aside and walked quickly toward the man.

  His movement alerted the man because he hurriedly jumped in the saddle and rode off into the darkness.

  Wes’s senses yelled a warning. At that moment, a scream pierced the air. He glanced in the direction of the sound and saw a dark figure on the hotel balcony.

  Naomi.

  He pulled his gun, shot at the man on the balcony, and broke into a run.

  Chapter Nine

  Naomi closed the door behind her, leaned against it, and wished she were with the lawman. But he didn’t want to be with her. She tossed her purse on the bed and walked over to the window. Below, Wes strode purposefully toward the saloon. Was he going for a drink like he said? Or looking for some female company? One whom he didn’t have to worry about his damned ethics? She scolded herself for her thoughts.

  She washed her face, then fished the night clothes Sally had given her from her valise. After washing up, she donned the lacy nightgown and blew out the lamp. As she climbed into bed, she prayed that sleep would come—and come soon. Hopefully, the nightmare would give her a respite this night.

  Later, something awakened her. She squinted into the darkness. When she saw nothing, she wondered if she had been dreaming. Had the nightmare come again? No, because if it had, she would have felt the terror. Just then, a grating noise came from the window, followed by the shadow of a man.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She froze, not moving a muscle, and wondering where she’d put her rifle. The dark figure raised the window. When he stuck a leg through the opening, she screamed and kept on screaming.

  The man jumped back, hitting his head on the glass. Shards flew across the floor. Curses spewed from his lips. At that moment, a shot thudded into the wall, sending Naomi diving to the floor and under the bed. The man cursed again, his voice an angry growl. From under the bed, she saw him climb back out the window and disappear into the night.

  Someone pounded on the door. “Naomi, are you all right? Answer me. Open the door. It’s Wes.”

  With her heart beating erratically in her breast, she crawled from her hiding spot and raced to the door. She fumbled with the key, but her hands shook so bad she couldn’t get it in the lock. The knocking continued.

  “Naomi, answer me.”

  “I’m okay,” she yelled. “I’m trying to unlock the door.” Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself and opened the door.

  Wes stood there, his gun in his hand. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Am I glad to see you. I was so scared.”

  “What happened?”

  She pointed at the window
. “A man tried to break into the room. He broke the glass and came into the room.”

  “Dammit! I thought I saw someone on the balcony. I shouldn’t have left you alone. Stay here.” Wes dashed over to the window, his boots crunching on the broken glass. He climbed out the open window.

  She found her rifle and clutched it tightly. From now on, she’d sleep with it by the bed. Footsteps sounded in the hall. Naomi whirled to face the door, her finger on the trigger. The desk clerk stood there, flanked by two sleepy-eyed men.

  “Whoa, missy, put that gun down,” the clerk said. “What’s going on here?”

  “Someone broke into Mrs. Brecker’s room,” Wes answered as he stepped through the window back into the room. “I chased him, but he got away down the alley.”

  “Oh, dear.” The clerk looked from Wes to Naomi and back. “That’s never happened before. This is a respectable hotel.” His mouth turned into a frown, and he wagged his finger at her. “But I’m not surprised. We don’t want your kind here. You should never have come here. Never.”

  Wes held up his hand. “That’s enough out of you. Mrs. Brecker will need another room. The one next to me.” When the man hesitated, Wes repeated his words in a low, menacing voice that brooked no disobedience.

  “Yes, yessir, Marshal. I’ll get the key.” The clerk scurried away.

  “Show’s over, you two,” Wes said to the men left standing at the door. “Scram.” Without a word, they disappeared. He lit the lamp. “Are you all right?”

  Naomi collapsed onto the bed. “Yes. Thank goodness, you heard me scream.”

  “Did you get a look at the guy’s face?” He holstered his gun, sat beside her, and took her hand.

  “No, it was too dark. Did you?”

  “I only caught a glimpse of him.”

  “Was it one of the hombres who followed us?”

  “Couldn’t tell. Naomi, I’ve tried to tell you that you were in danger. As you said, you’ve shaken a few apples from the tree. Maybe now you’ll believe me. Let me take you away from here.”

  “Oh, Wes, I do believe you, but I’m not leaving. My presence here has upset someone pretty bad. I want to know who—and why.”

  “You’re one stubborn woman, Naomi Brecker.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Get your things. You’re moving into the room next to mine.” He jerked his finger toward the door.

  She didn’t argue. The open window would surely invite other varmints. She might not be so lucky the next time. It only took a moment to gather her few belongings. She followed him across the hall. The clerk appeared with the key and handed it to Wes.

  “Thanks. You can go now.”

  The man looked like he wanted to say something else, but one look from Wes sent him scurrying away. Wes led the way down the hallway. He stopped, opened the door and ushered her inside. “You sure you’re okay?”

  She held her hand up. It was shaking.

  “Lock the door. Don’t open it for anybody but me.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Thanks. Again.”

  His features softened. “You’re welcome. Again.”

  After closing the door, Naomi leaned against the rough wood, fighting the urge to call him back, wanting him, needing him. She took a deep breath to still her racing pulse, then perched on the edge of the bed, tired but too frightened to go back to sleep. As her eyelids grew heavy, she curled up under the blanket. Knowing someone wanted her dead was very unsettling.

  Finally, her exhaustion overcame her fear, and sleep, uncluttered by the nightmare, claimed her. About dawn, a scratching noise at the door pulled her from her slumber. Her heart rose in her throat. Had the intruder returned? She peeked out from under the covers.

  No one. Nothing.

  A sigh of relief escaped her lips. Then she saw it. A scrap of paper on the floor. Someone had slipped it under the door. She slipped out of bed and walked toward it. As she picked it up, her fingers shook. Was it another threat? She thumbed it open. The unfamiliar handwriting was hard to read.

  Please come to see me. I have news for you about Roy Brecker. Come to the yellow house at the end of Main Street. Come alone.

  A friend.

  A friend? It was hard to believe she had any friends in Gila Bend. Was it a ploy to get her alone—and kill her?

  She walked to the window and peered down Main Street. In the distance, she glimpsed the top floor of a yellow house. She chewed on her bottom lip, debating whether to go, and whether she should tell Wes. Of course, he would order her not to go. But she’d come here for answers—maybe this “friend” had some.

  Her mind made up, she dressed quickly. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and draped it over her head. A quick glance into the hallway showed it empty—and Wes’s door shut. She headed in the opposite direction of the main stairway—there had to be a back door. And there was. On silent feet, she darted down the steps, out the door and into the alleyway. Without hesitation, she headed for the yellow house. Only a few merchants opening their stores were about at this early hour. No one paid any attention to her as she passed.

  At the corner, she stopped abruptly. The yellow house was huge. With two stories and a wrap-around porch, it looked out of place. A white picket fence enclosed a manicured lawn and garden.

  A young boy playing marbles squatted in the dusty street. Two books held by a frayed rope lay in the sand beside him. As she hesitated, a bell rang, startling her. She moved back into the shadows. The lad jumped to his feet and headed for the school house. Naomi called out to him as he passed her. “Hi there. Can you tell me who lives there?” She pointed at the yellow house.

  He eyed her curiously. “Why, old Mrs. Johnson and Matildy. Everyone knows that. They give me cookies sometimes.” The bell rang again. “I gotta go.”

  Old Mrs. Johnson? She didn’t remember anyone by the name of Johnson in Gila Bend. The fact though that her ‘friend’ was an old woman allayed some of her fears but increased her curiosity. How could she have news about Roy?

  After a quick survey of the street, Naomi opened the gate and walked up onto the porch. The sweet smell of roses brought a smile to her face. She’d planted some of the fragrant red flowers out at the ranch. The ranch that was no longer hers. An elm shaded the walkway while a bird high up in the branches chirped its greeting.

  She raised her hand to knock. But before she could rap on the white door, it opened. Standing there, with a smile on her wrinkled face, was an old woman who barely came to Naomi’s shoulders. Her resemblance to Roy shocked Naomi.

  “Hello there,” the woman said in a southern accent. “You must be Naomi. I’m so glad you came. I was afraid you wouldn’t. Won’t you come in?”

  Naomi could only stare at the diminutive woman. Finally, she found her voice. “Yes, yes, thank you.”

  The woman stepped to the side, and Naomi entered. Lace curtains fluttered at the windows while braided rugs covered the floor. Tatted doilies covered much of the furniture. Two rocking chairs faced the fireplace.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen,” the woman continued, “and have some coffee or hot tea. This way, my dear.”

  The house was cool at this time of the morning. It appeared to be spotless and meticulously kept. As they entered the kitchen, a teapot on the stove whistled loudly. A heavy-set black woman, a blue bandana around her head, pulled cookies from the oven. The sweet smell teased her nostrils.

  “Sit down, my dear. I know you’re full of questions, but all in good time, all in good time. What would you like? Coffee or tea?”

  “Tea, please.” Naomi eased herself onto the gingham-covered chair cushion.

  “Matilda, would you please.”

  “Yessum.” Matilda poured two cups of tea and placed them on the table. A plate of cookies followed.

  “This is so nice, isn’t it, Matilda? We so seldom have guests.”

  But Naomi’s curiosity couldn’t wait. “Mrs. Johnson, is it? I don’t mean to be forward but please tell me what’s going on. Who are you? Why did you
send me the note? And what do you know about Roy?”

  The woman sighed deeply and perched on the other chair. “First off, my dear, my name is not Johnson. It’s Brecker, Virginia Brecker.”

  A gasp tore from Naomi’s lips. “Brecker? Ohmigod, I can’t believe it. Are you kin to Roy? You do look like him, or I should say, he looks like you.”

  A smile lit Mrs. Brecker’s face. “I’m Roy’s grandmother on his daddy’s side, but what with Roy’s, er, rather unsavory reputation, me and Matildy thought it wise not to let that be known.”

  “He never told me he had any relatives, but I’m glad to meet you.”

  “Oh, yes, my dear, and we’re so glad to finally meet you. You see, Roy wrote me that he was going to be a father, and he wanted me and Matildy to come live with him and take care of you and the baby.”

  Naomi’s mouth gaped open. “I didn’t know anything about that.”

  “I know, my dear. He said he wanted it to be a surprise. He wanted you to have company since he was gone so much of the time. He loved you so much. He said he would tell you when he had a chance, but I guess…he never had the chance. When we arrived in Gila Bend, he was…dead and you were in prison.” A tear slid down the frail cheek.

  Naomi patted her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me…back then?”

  “Things were bad at that time. We were afraid. Everyone here was glad that Roy was dead, broke my heart, that did, and they wanted you hanged. Then things started happening, that poor girl got killed, wild talk in the streets. I wanted to come and see you in prison, or write you, but Matildy and me, we figured they’d be watching you. To be honest, we were plain scared to death.”

  “Why didn’t you go back east? Why did you stay?”

  “We got nobody left to go back to in Atlanta. And this dry weather was good for my rheumatiz, so we decided to stay on.” She locked gazes with Naomi. “Honey, if you don’t mind me asking, the baby? My great grandchild?”

  Naomi shook her head. “I lost the baby in prison.” The old woman seemed to age before Naomi’s eyes.