by Robin Gideon
Judge Dahlmann pounded with his gavel. “Order! This court will come to order immediately, or I’ll find each and every one of you in contempt.”
Angie was trapped between her father and brother. Though she couldn’t free herself from them, they couldn’t silence her vindictive tongue either.
“Judge, kill that tramp!” Angie shouted. “My father paid you good money, goddamn it, so it’s time you earned some of it!”
Garrett heard those words and thought, Thank God she’s a lunatic!
Dahlmann reacted to Angie’s words by pounding his gavel with all his might. He couldn’t afford to have Angie saying such things. He shouted, “Bailiff, arrest that woman for slander. I want silence in this court this very instant. Court adjourned. The verdict is not guilty.”
Angie was still screaming. “Arrest me? You insignificant fool.” She turned to Jonathon and shouted, though his face was close to her own and he was trying his level best to place his hand over her mouth. “Papa, kill that man. Have him killed right now.”
Amidst the confusion, Garrett watched Andy Fields slip out the side door of the courtroom. Then he rushed to where Pamela was seated, looking upon the chaos in stunned silence. He took her hand and literally jerked her to her feet.
“Time to go,” he said above the rising din in the courtroom.
* * * *
Two years later
Pamela sat in her rocking chair, sipping tea sweetened with honey. She looked at her husband, wishing there was something she could say that would ease his mind, something she could do to turn the clock backward so that the past could not haunt Garrett Randolph.
The burden of guilt, she knew, rested squarely on her own shoulders, though Garrett was the one who had to carry its weight. For a second, she closed her eyes, loving her husband more than life itself, wishing there was some way she could erase what had gone before so his reputation would be as spotless as it had been when she’d fallen in love with this enigmatic man.
“Why don’t you have a brandy, dear?” she suggested softly. “It’ll help soothe your nerves.”
“I’m not nervous,” Garrett replied much too quickly, stopping his pacing of the library for the first time in the past three hours. “Besides, I need to keep my wits about me.”
“Of course, darling,” Pamela replied softly.
It had been a difficult mayoral campaign. Garrett’s opponent had never let the voters forget he had married a woman who had been tried for murder. Added to this were the varying accounts of what had truly transpired at the trial. The head juror, Andy Fields, had disappeared immediately after Pamela had been found not guilty. Six months later Fields had broken his neck falling down a flight of stairs in a bordello in San Francisco. When the authorities had checked Fields’s hotel room, they’d found almost three thousand dollars in currency and gold coin. There was no official explanation as to how a man like Andy Fields was in possession of that kind of money, though rumors suggested a link to Garrett Randolph and his vast fortune.
When Garrett’s opponent had suggested that Pamela be brought to trial again—after all, the conclusion of her first trial was not exactly by the book—Garrett had pointed out she couldn’t be brought to trial again.
Pamela thought about all the things that had happened to the Darwells since the trial, and even though she tried to hate the family, she could not wish what tragedies had befallen them upon anyone. Michael Darwell had been the first to fall victim. The once-proud and even arrogant young businessman, who strutted through the streets and boudoirs of Whitetail Creek as though he owned the entire city and the people in it instead of just its largest casino, was now pushed daily along the boardwalks in a wheelchair. A thief, the newspapers had reported, had broken into the Cattleman’s Paradise to steal money from Michael’s personal safe. A scuffle ensued, and then a shot rang out, striking a glancing blow to Michael’s temple. At first the wound did not seem too serious. But though his eyes opened and closed, he had lost the use of his limbs. He could not speak or communicate in any way, though there were those people who said there was fear in his eyes whenever Angie was nearby.
Angie was the only person who’d heard the late-night gunshot ring out, and she was the one who had found Michael and supplied the “facts” of the break-in and shooting that had been given to the newspapers. She was, the newspapers had reported, “heartsick” over the incident involving her brother, though after the tantrum she’d thrown in court, there were many people who doubted she could be heartsick over anything.
Jonathon Darwell, with his beloved son now in a vegetative state, slipped deeper and deeper into an all-pervasive depression. He was rarely seen in public now, and rumor had it that he now refused to see his daughter alone. He had a standing order among the servants that, whenever she asked to see him, at least one servant was to be in the room with them at all times.
But that was another family, one that Pamela no longer had much to worry about, though it did seem as though justice had been cheated because Angie was still dashing about the streets of Whitetail Creek, her heart as untroubled as it ever had been. Political scandals, murder, maiming—none of it had actually touched Angie deeply, and Pamela suspected that nothing could.
Though Garrett had tried to make sure his life was free of scandals during his first political campaign, many voters were questioning just exactly how honest a man he was.
Even Pamela had asked him how he’d managed to get her set free, and he looked her straight in the eyes and said, “I’ll tell you this once, and then we’ll never speak of it again. You once told me we couldn’t win the case because Jonathon Darwell doesn’t play by the rules, but I do. The more I thought about that, the more I realized you were absolutely right. So, for once in my life, I didn’t play by the rules. I used Jonathon Darwell’s methods and Michael Darwell’s money to defeat Angie Darwell’s wishes.”
Pamela wanted to ask more, but she’d promised Garrett she’d never again bring the subject up, and she had kept that promise.
Almost one year to the day after the trial, after a six-month engagement, Pamela and Garrett had been married. Their life together had been blissful until Garrett had decided to run for mayor of Whitetail Creek. That was when the past, and all the rumors, came back to haunt them.
The clock chimed softly. Ten times. The voting booths had been closed for three hours. That meant the counters should have the total very soon.
Pamela watched Garrett pacing the length of the library, and she thought, If I’ve destroyed his political career, I’ll never forgive myself.
The knock on the door was crisp. Paul Randolph entered the library without being invited. “I’ve got bad news for you, little brother.”
Pamela’s heart sank, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“What’s that?” Garrett asked in a grave voice.
“I’m going to have to fire you as attorney for Randolph Ranch.”
“Why? I’ve always done my job.”
“Maybe so, but from now on you’ll be too busy with your duties as mayor of Whitetail Creek.”
Pamela rushed across the library and threw herself into Garrett’s arms, and he twirled her around and around.
“You and me together,” he whispered into her ear. “We’re unbeatable.”
Pamela kissed him, knowing in her heart of hearts that he was right.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robin Gideon is an Upper Midwest writer of erotic romances who was born on the plains of North Dakota, where she places many of her stories. She is the author of several Siren stories, including Desire of the Phantom, Ecstasy in Elk’s Crossing, Ecstasy Times Two, and Elysia’s Passion. Writing as Brandi Maxwell for Siren, she is the author of Ella’s Desire and Colleen’s Desire. Robin loves hearing from her readers, and can be reached at [email protected].
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